


Playing With Fire

by Kaeos (Tennyo)



Series: Welcome to Hell [2]
Category: Justified, Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Reality, Alternate Universe - Fusion, Alternate Universe - Gender Changes, Episode: s01e01 Fire in the Hole, Episode: s01e02 Wendigo, Gen, I REGRET NOTHING, Supernatural/Justified amalgamated universe, What Was I Thinking?, it was funny at the time
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-22
Updated: 2014-04-20
Packaged: 2018-01-09 15:10:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 11
Words: 22,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1147453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tennyo/pseuds/Kaeos
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After (accidentally) blowing up a building full of vampire mobsters in Florida, Raylean Givchester, U.S. Marshal and Monster Hunter, gets transferred to Kentucky, where she will be faced with dealing with the hometown from Hell, literally.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. My Old Kentucky Home

**Author's Note:**

> If you wish to understand my madness, I will post a continuously updated Character Sheet in order to keep them all sorted.  
> If you are unfamiliar with both series, you might get a little lost, but the story sticks closely to the scripts.  
> Some dialogue & sequences taken directly from the episodes, but much has been modified to make room for both universes.
> 
> This is my first fanfic. If you have suggestions on how to tag or anything else, please let me know.  
> Thanks to MollyC for proofreading(beta).
> 
> One thing I want to mention before you read this: This is mostly an exercise in merging two universes while following one simple rule:   
> Whatever happens in the original, must happen in the AU. It doesn't have to happen to the same people, and you don't have to even write about it, but it MUST HAPPEN.  
> This is following the time-theory that timelines have immutable points, and the further you stray from those points, the harder it snaps back into place. Or something like that.

Raylean Givchester walked into the Lexington Marshal’s office with trepidation, but decided to not let it show, her back straight, hips swaying, a cowboy hat perched jauntily on her head. As she saw a familiar face, her lips twisted into a rueful half smile.

“Good to see you!” said an older, heavyset man wearing a pale yellow polo shirt and brown slacks. He had thinning hair and more than the beginnings of a double chin below a clean-shaven face. Faded blue eyes greeted her, warmly crinkling at the corners. This was Chief Deputy Bobby Mullen, and he walked to meet her halfway across the room and shook her hand warmly.

“Good to be seen, Bobby.” She relaxed a bit, glad to see a familiar face.

“Well, it’s about lunchtime, wanna go get something to eat before I introduce you to the team?” said Bobby, patting her on the shoulder. She nodded and he turned toward his office, speaking over his shoulder. “Let me get my coat, and we’ll go.”

As they walked into a room with an interior glass wall and a pile of folders on the desk, Bobby gave Raylean a good look up and down. He took in her appearance and chuckled to himself. He had not seen her for about five years since he had been her instructor at the Marshal Service Training Academy in Georgia. Her off-hours, non-uniform choice of wardrobe from then was strikingly similar to what he was seeing now.

She wore cowboy boots and tight faded jeans that clung to her long, curvy legs. A simple dark blue business jacket hung loose over a thin denim fitted shirt that was halfway unbuttoned showing an undershirt stretched across an ample bosom. A buff-colored Stetson perched upon her head, long, dark-blonde locks flowing to her shoulders in soft waves. While the hat shaded her features, he could still see her oval face, large green eyes, and full lips. Tall and strong, he knew this woman could handle herself in a fight. She could look downright stunning when she smiled, but usually scowled or kept an impassive expression. Today, she seemed to be leaning toward impassive.

“You haven’t changed much since Glynco. Same clothes, boots, hat?”

“I didn’t used to wear jackets like this.” She grasped the lapels of her coat, fanning it out, and Bobby could see the gun holster hanging from her belt.

Bobby looked up at her as he started picking up items off his desk. “If I recall, you used to prefer leather.”

She gave a sideways head bob in acknowledgement. She did prefer leather jackets, her favorite was shiny, supple and smooth from years of use. But she found that the business-like jacket not only hid the weapon at her hip better, it also gave her a more professional air in a world where it was easy to see women as weak or as sex objects, often not taken as seriously. Glancing at her own chest, noticing the hint of cleavage showing, she thought, _But sometimes a bit of sex-appeal helps grease social wheels._

Not that Bobby ever looked at her that way. No, he’d become more like a father-figure during her time at the academy, especially after he discovered she was basically an orphan, no family of her own. She fondly remembered him inviting groups of students home for Sunday supper, his wife bustling about in the kitchen, guilting some of them into helping her cook. Everyone had to hold hands as a prayer was given before anyone was allowed to even touch a crumb.

\---------------------------  


They were sitting in a small family restaurant, waiting for their orders to arrive. Bobby was drinking a glass of sweet iced tea while Raylean nursed a bottle of grape Crush.

“You were working fugitives down in Florida, huh?”

She gave an affirming grunt as she took a swig from her bottle.

“Well, here, everybody gets everything. Fugitives, witness relocation, judicial protection,” he lowered his voice, “paranormal regulation,” and immediately returned to a normal tone, “prisoner transport… Well, prisoner transport’s usually the shit detail, used as punishment? Here, we all do it.”

Raylean raised an eyebrow. “Even you?”

“Oh, hell no. Bein’ the boss has to have some perks, right?” They both smiled, sipping their drinks.

One thing that most of the civilian population didn’t know was that… well, the supernatural existed. Ghosts, witches, various bogeymen - they were real, and the government tried to help keep activity controlled to below a “threshold of believability”. Every now and again, something would get out of hand and they had to work hard to make sure the general populace didn’t get panicky about werewolves, vampires and ghosts picking them off at night.

Raylean had known such things existed early in her childhood, having witnessed many strange things while growing up in Hell County, a backwoods area with a higher-than-average ratio of creepy-crawlies of all kinds. That was one of the reasons she had decided to become a Marshal. They were the ones who got to get their hands dirty when it came to controlling the bigger paranormal cases. Salting and burning the bones of a vengeful spirit, chopping the head off of a rogue vampire, torching various nightmare creatures gave her more satisfaction than “normal” Marshal duties.

Back in the early 60’s, the government had decided that monster hunting needed to be regulated. A secret organization known as the Men of Letters had been practically wiped out by… well, they still weren’t exactly sure what. The remaining members of the organization who still held power within the U.S. government pushed for organized control. As a result, the rest of the Men of Letters and their Legacies were ensconced into the intelligence branch of the government while Hunters were placed among various policing agencies. Vigilantism was highly discouraged and funding was taken care of by very carefully overpricing vendor bids and supply orders as well as carefully worded subsidies.

Their orders arrived and they shifted their silverware and drinks so the waitress could set down their plates. Bobby had ordered a salad with grilled chicken while Raylean got a bacon cheeseburger and onion rings. Sighing while gazing longingly at Raylean’s cholesterol bomb, Bobby began pouring his no-fat dressing on his salad.

“Must be nice to have a metabolism that can handle that. Lord, I miss bacon.”

Raylean spoke around an onion ring she had just popped in her mouth. “Leslie got you on a diet?”

Shoulders slumped, Bobby nodded and sighed. “High cholesterol and blood pressure, headed on my way towards diabetes, she’s determined to make sure I stay alive long enough to retire.” He looked over at Raylean as she peeled a strip of bacon off her burger and laid it across his salad. “Oh, God have mercy,” he mumbled, then looked up at her as she started to raise the burger to her mouth, Stetson still perched on her head.

“While I appreciate the bacon, you still should have the decency to take your hat off, girl.” He pointed a finger at her. “Now, I know you weren’t raised by a proper family, but you really should have learned some manners by now.”

Biting into the burger, she lowered her head sheepishly before wiping her fingers off and placing her hat on the seat beside her. She remembered to swallow before grumbling out, “Sorry, Bobby.”

\---------------------------  


After lunch, they walked back to the office. “I know you always preferred the monster cases, isn’t that why you picked Kentucky?”  


“Bobby, no offence, but I didn’t pick Kentucky.”  


Bobby chuckled. “Yeah, I talked to your boss down there. Wanna tell me about the explosion?”  


“That was technically not my fault. The fangs were the ones who kept canisters of explosive gases in their warehouse, and their thugs were the ones who opened fire on me.” She glanced sideways at the man. “Why, you worried about me coming here?” she drawled.  


“We run a small office, Raylean, I’m worried when we change brands of toilet paper.” After a moment of silence, he spoke again. “I know what you did was justified, but you got a track record of leaving messes behind. They’re starting to refer to you as a Hunter.”  


She rolled her eyes, understanding that meant they felt she was becoming a vigilante. True, she didn’t always follow the rules, but she got results and kept exposure to a minimum. So, maybe she insisted taking on most of the monster cases, and maybe a few got out of hand. That didn’t mean she couldn’t do her damn job.  


When they reached the government building that housed their office, Bobby held the door open, ever the gentleman. While they waited for the elevator, he turned to her.  


“You keep in touch with anyone down in Hell County?”  


“Not really, why?”  


“U.S. Attorney’s office is tryin’ to build a case against a guy down there, thought you might have heard of him, Boyd Crowler?” The doors opened and they stepped inside; Bobby pushed the button for their floor.  


Groaning, she wiped her face with her palm. “God, Bobby, you wanna dump this shit on me now?”  


“I take it you know him, then?”  


She pursed her lips as she spoke. “Yeah, I had a boyfriend used to work at a body shop with him after high school. They’d hang out sometimes, Boyd would buy the beer.”  


“What was your impression of him then?”  


“A crazy but charismatic son of a bitch.”  


The remainder of the day was spent meeting the rest of the staff, filing paperwork and looking at some case files.


	2. Back in the Saddle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylean's day starts early, and it only gets longer as they discover that campers are disappearing in the forest.

The next morning, her phone rang before her alarm went off. Groaning, she rolled over to grab the phone and looked at the display. _Dammit, it’s work._

She pushed the green button and held the phone to her ear. “Yeah?”

Bobby replied, “Hey, get your boots on and get down to the address I’m about to send you. Got a hot one, literally.”

By the time Raylean arrived at the scene of a building fire, it was mostly out. She found Bobby speaking with a police officer. She nodded to them as she approached.

“Alright, Officer Simpson, tell her what you just told me.” 

The police officer took a long, slow look up Raylean’s form, taking in the slightly wrinkled white button-up that parted around the swell of breasts covered by a white undershirt. Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and the Stetson was pulled down over her eyes. When saw her scowling expression, he hurriedly looked at his notebook. “Church fire, possible explosion. Happened around 3:05 AM. Only a couple of witnesses, they say the same, two white males in a dark SUV, one got out, walked around the back of the church, then exited a few minutes later. After they left, there was a big ‘whoomp’, fireball, and the building burned extremely fast. No known survivors, we don’t know yet if anyone was in the building.”

She nodded, “Thanks, officer.” Turning to Bobby, she asked, “So, divine fire, brimstone, or… gas leak?”

“Not sure yet.” He looked over at Raylean, taking in her sour expression. “You roll out of the wrong end of the bed this morning?”

Rubbing her eyes with one hand, she slumped. “More like I got woke up before I needed to.”

“Well come on, let’s get some coffee while I fill you in on the rest.”

They got their coffees and watched the smoldering wreckage. They wouldn’t know what had started the fire until they could get some testing equipment in there. Bobby fleshed out more details from the witnesses, but it wasn’t much more helpful. She noticed a dark-skinned man in a long, striped orange robe and matching cap arguing with a fireman at the corner. She nudged Bobby, nodding in that direction. “Who’s Mr. Rasta over there?”

“Fandi, who’s completely full of shit. He’s been selling drugs out of his ‘church’ for a while now. We were hoping to find his supplier before all this.”

Bobby waved over a petite black woman with her hair pulled back in a bun, wearing a neat pin-striped suit who was speaking with what appeared to be a convenience store employee. It was one of the other Marshals she’d met yesterday, and she couldn’t remember the woman’s name.

Luckily, Bobby helped with that little problem. “Hey, Rachel, what do we have on Pastor Fandi over there?”

Rachel smirked before answering. “Pastor Fandi says no one else should have been in the building, but his stash of ‘sacramental herb’ went up in smoke.”

Huffing through her nose, Raylean said, “Just like Cheech and Chong.” 

Both Bobby and Rachel stared at her flatly for a moment until Bobby’s phone rang. After a brief conversation, he hung up. “Rachel, you finish up here. Raylean, you’re with me. Tim found something you might want to see.”

\---------

An hour later, they were pulling into a campground with hiking trails that led into the mountains. They were riding in Bobby’s old truck; she had left her rental car at the previous scene. She was just thinking about how she needed to get a real car of her own when she saw the other Marshal walking up to them. This one, his name she could remember. Tim Novak, six feet of lean muscle, dark hair and vivid blue eyes. Today he wore shades of blue, navy suit, light shirt and a bright tie which accentuated his eyes. 

His dark brown hair was styled with gel to be swept back off his forehead with just a little volume, not slicked back. She could see the brown leather holster for his weapon at his hip as he walked, jacket flapping. 

Tim gave an easy smile as he approached the truck, leaning against the back wheel well as she climbed out, seeming to enjoy his view. He nodded to her and asked, “You sleep in that hat?”

Raylean turned her profile to him, scanning the forest, hand on her hip. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”

Tim looked like he was about to respond when Bobby placed a heavy hand on his shoulder and asked, “So tell us what you’ve got so far.”

Tim motioned them to follow him to the ranger’s station, speaking as he walked. “Three teens taking a two week camping trip. One of them, Tommy Collins, has been in touch with his sister. Six days in, he stops, and that was three days ago. The rangers weren’t too concerned until they saw this.” As they reached the ranger station, he pulled out an evidence bag with a bloody piece of torn cloth. “Dog they had with them showed up this morning at the station with it.” 

They entered the ranger station to see a large mound of black, brown and white fur leashed to a desk. The ranger - his name tag said Wilkinson- stepped from behind the desk to shake hands. The dog raised its head and whined softly. Kneeling down, Raylean presented her knuckles to sniff before scratching behind his ears. While the ranger described the terrain of the area, she listened while ruffling the scruff at his neck. The tag on his collar showed his name was “Sammy” and she soothed the animal with his own name while checking his body for injuries. She noticed some streaked blood on his side and a sore paw, but he seemed otherwise unharmed. 

The ranger was explaining that since it was spring, bears weren’t uncommon, and if they’d stumbled over an old mine, the campers may have disturbed one. The problem was, the forest area was quite large and a decent size search team would need to be assembled.

Placing her hands on her knees, she stood up, turning toward the men. “We could focus on the areas with mines first, since it might be bears. Maybe even Sammy here can help, since he was with them.” The dog panted at the mention of his name.

Bobby nodded and turned to the ranger. “We’ll have a couple of Marshals with you for the search, say around one? You know the area, so have the rangers come up with a search grid centering on abandoned mines and bodies of water.” 

They shook hands again and the Marshals headed out of the station. At his truck, Bobby turned to look at her and Tim. “You think its bears?”

Tim shrugged. “Hard to tell, could have just hurt themselves somewhere, fallen down a ravine.”

Raylean shook her head. “Doesn’t explain the cloth, or the blood I found on the dog. Plus, no one’s heard from them. If Tommy could have gotten a signal out there, one of them would have called for help. “

Bobby’s brow wrinkled. “Something about this seems familiar. I’m goin’ to head back to the office, do some research. You two, go visit the sister of the boy who was checking in, see what else she may be able to give us. Draw straws on who gets to go hiking this afternoon.”

Tim glanced sideways at Raylean. “We could both go, team up. It’s probably been a while since Boots here’s been in the woods all alone. Could show her a thing or two.” 

She turned to face him head-on. “I do own more than a pair of cowboy boots, you know. Besides, you look like the type that rarely makes it off trail anyway. You ever scuff those shiny loafers?”

Bobby sighed heavily. “Alright, you two, put away the measuring sticks. I need one of you to help with the other investigation because Rachel’s due in court. Figure it out before noon and let me know so I can tell you what I’ve learned.”

As Bobby drove off, Tim and Raylean got into his typical government issue sedan. When they were both seated, Tim turned to her. “Look, I’m sorry if…” 

She cut him off with a raised hand. “If you think a little verbal sparring is enough to make me run off complaining about harassment, nip that in the bud right damn now. I can give as good as I get.” There was the slightest hint of a smirk on her face.

Tim grinned wide at that and started the car, wondering, hoping maybe there was a double entendre buried in what she had said.

\----------

The trip to visit the sister actually turned up one good piece of information. The last night Haley heard from her brother, he’d sent a video from his tent. Something - something fast - could be seen in the shadows behind him. When Haley heard about the search party, she insisted on coming with.

It was almost eleven by the time they got back to town. Raylean had Tim drop her off at the earlier fire scene and he asked her if she wanted to flip a coin over who got the hiking gig. She smiled at him, pulled a quarter out of her pocket, and flipped it, saying “call it.” 

“Tails!”

She slapped the coin to the back of her hand and peeked without showing him. “Sorry, Heads. I’m going on the search, you get to investigate the fire. See ya!” 

As she walked away, he watched her rear sway, realizing he’d been played. He was either going to have a lot of fun working with this woman, or she would drive him crazy.

Back at the office, Bobby had disturbing news. “So here’s what I’ve got. Every 23 years, campers go missing right around that forest.” 

Raylean was back in her hotel room and put her phone on speaker so she could talk and change clothes. “ _Every_ 23? Weird.”

Tim was in the office with Bobby and spoke up. “And no one’s ever found even part of a body from these disappearances.”

Raylean pulled on a pair of well-worn, holey jeans over top of some thermal leggings. If they ended up in the forest at night, it could get cold. “So… what do we think this is?” She could hear papers shuffling while she exchanged her white shirt for a soft green flannel. 

While she was digging in her bags, Bobby spoke up. “Could be a Black Dog, or a Skinwalker, but…” 

Tim took over, “It doesn’t fit the profile. One thing does, but there’s not a precedent for one this far south.” 

Bobby’s turn, “It may be a Wendigo.” 

She had heard of Wendigo, and they were right, they usually ended up in areas with much harsher winters. “You saying I should bring a flare gun?” 

She heard an affirmative grunt over the line. “And hedge your bets with salt and iron shot. You need to come by and pick some up?”

“Nah, I’ve got some with me.”

“Alright, but wait for Tim to come pick you up.”

She stopped to stare at the phone for a moment, then picked it up. “What the hell, Bobby. I thought you said only one of us needed to go.” 

She could hear snickering before Bobby switched the line from speaker to handset. “Look, I know you’re fully capable of handling a job on your own, but we’re not exactly sure what this is, and there’s a chance those boys may still be alive, since Wendigo like to… store what they catch. You want to try to haul someone injured outta the woods on your own?”

Sighing, she sat down in the straight-backed chair at the small desk in her room, hiking boots ready to put on. “Tell Tim to get his butt over here, I’m ready.”


	3. Into the Woods

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A search party is formed, they find Tommy's campsite, and they get royally screwed.

The search party didn’t get started until closer to 2 PM because, as promised, Haley showed up with her other brother Ben. The rangers didn’t want to take them or an untrained dog into the woods, and a local with a rifle showed up as a volunteer. Tim and Raylean ended up with Sammy and the civilians. With everybody geared up with supplies, weapons and packs, groups split off toward their search targets. Since they had the civilians, the Marshals headed out along a small trail that passed near the closest abandoned mine. 

Raylean left her Stetson behind, but she had on her trusty old leather jacket, and it felt like a second skin. As it was originally a men’s jacket, the sleeves were a bit long for her arms, but she liked being able to grasp the cuffs in her hands. The hem fell just below her rear, so she didn’t always have people ogling it. There were extra pockets in the lining to hold all sorts of interesting odds and ends needed for her job. It had been too long since it had been practical to wear it for official business. 

Tim was in a puffy denim coat with a sheepskin collar, and she could see the collar of a plaid shirt underneath. His jeans were faded along the thighs and she wondered if they were bought that way or if he’d actually worn them long enough to fade naturally. She enjoyed watching his natural loping gait as he clomped around in construction boots. Not that she would ever tell him that. He was already too much of a flirt. A girl didn’t want to come off looking easy, after all.

Sammy was fairly well behaved, so Raylean let Haley hold his leash. Turned out he belonged to one of the other missing boys and was a Bernese Mountain Dog. Tim managed to hike and talk at the same time, chatting up the civilians, while Raylean kept her eyes sharp, scanning the forest as they traveled. When Tim took to flirting with her, making jokes about sharing a sleeping bag, Raylean quipped that any snakes that ended up in her bag got their heads chopped off by instinct while she was sleeping. That caused him to pale and shut up for a while.

With a little help from Sammy, they found the abandoned campsite off-trail after 6 PM and it was wrecked. Tents were shredded, gear was everywhere, and the blood… They dropped their packs before Tim turned Haley and Ben away from the sight, saying they should search the perimeter for clues. The man with the rifle, his name was Roy, announced that it looked like a bear attack. 

While searching for tracks among the wreckage, they heard Haley’s plaintive wail. Dashing down a slope, they found her slumped to the ground, holding one of those special satellite phones, broken and blood-smeared. Ben simply stood stunned, Tim’s hand resting on his shoulder. 

Raylean crouched down in front of Haley, resting her palm on her forearm to get her attention. “Hey, look at me. This doesn’t mean he’s not still alive, okay?”

Haley looked up, face tear-streaked, brown eyes huge in her despair. “He’s all Ben and I have left. After our parents died, I’ve tried so hard to keep us going and I… I don’t…” 

Knowing where this was headed, Raylean hauled the girl up forcefully, forcing her to look straight at her. “We’re going to find him.”

Tim led the brother to her side and they clung to each other, the dog leaning against their legs. Then he whispered to Raylean, “I need to speak with you, in private.” 

Raylean told Roy to keep an eye on things and Tim led her to the top of a small ridge. After a moment’s pause, he spoke. “You hear that?” 

“Yeah, not even crickets.”

“If this is what we think it is, we need to get them out of here. It’s too d-” a rustle of bushes further in the woods attracts everyone’s attention, and they all face the direction it came from. 

There’s the snap of a branch and Haley shouted out, “Tommy?” 

Something that sounded very much like a man crying out in pain had Haley and Ben both running toward the noise, calling Tommy’s name. The dog whimpered and huddled to the ground and Roy went bounding after the siblings, rifle in hand. 

“Shit!” both Marshals said in unison, dashing to try to catch them. A few moments later Tim caught Roy, and Raylean continued after the other two. Grabbing Haley by the arm and Ben by the collar of his jacket, she hauled them to a stop. Frantic, Haley tried to break her grip. “But Tommy’s out there!”

“That’s not Tommy!”

“But I have to…”

“Get back to camp, NOW! Both of you!”

When she managed to bring them back to camp, she noticed there’s something very wrong. The dog was huddled near the abandoned fire pit, shaking. Cussing up a storm, Roy was stomping around angrily. Tim was standing on a rock, cellphone in the air, looking for signal. And their packs were gone.

Raylean sighed heavily, knowing they were royally screwed. She scrunched her eyes closed and muttered under her breath, “Son. Of. A. _Bitch_.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one's a bit short because it's as far as I've got proofread.  
> I'm going to kill that damn Wendigo before I post again.  
> As always, comments VERY welcome!


	4. Around the Campfire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things go from bad to worse during the night.

They gathered around, sorting the supplies they had on them and what could be salvaged from the camp. Tim had a pack of jerky in his coat, Haley, Tim and Raylean had canteens, Ben brought forth a half-eaten protein bar, and Roy had his gun. Raylean pulled a huge bag of M&M’s out of an inside jacket pocket and they looked at her like it was a magic trick. “What? Girl’s gotta have her chocolate.” 

She had an assortment of various weapons hiding in various pockets too, but she wasn’t going to start inventory in front of civilians. Raylean and Tim both had their service weapons, but they were beginning to wonder if they’d do any good. They were also the only ones to not leave their phones in their packs, but both were useless with no signal. Fortunately, Raylean still had her flare gun, and she made an effort to show the brightly colored barrel to Tim without the others noticing.

Tim spoke up to the small group. “Alright, sun will be setting soon, so we need to set up camp. You,” pointing at Haley & Ben, “See what we can use for shelter in what’s left. You,” nodding at Roy, “Keep a lookout and collect some dry brush near the site. _Don’t_ wander more than a few feet. We’re going to look for firewood and a water source. Nobody stay out of sight of each other.”

They found a small stream and filled up a dented pot from it. On their way back, Raylean holding the pot, Tim with wood piled up in both arms, she spoke. “This thing, it’s smart, wants to cut us off so we can’t call for help. In the dark, it’s going to get even more dangerous.”

Tim nodded. “I’ve got some Anasazi symbols Bobby gave me, should work for protection. We can draw them around the site when we get back.”

As the sun was setting, Raylean had Roy help her get a fire started. She always kept a filled Zippo on her, so at least they had something to get it going. Haley and Ben were trying to straighten a warped fire grate to set the pot on and Tim wandered on the outskirts of the site drawing symbols on trees and the ground.

Roy eyeballed the symbols Tim was drawing, and he was becoming increasingly agitated. “Don’t know how your doodles are gonna protect us from bears.”

Raylean piled some solid wood on the fire, now that it was starting to burn steadily. “You hunt often, Roy?”  
He nodded, “Yeah, every season.”

She leaned in close and whispered, “Tell me, Bambi or Yogi ever hunt you back?”

At that, he jumped up, eyes wild. “I knew it! Knew it wasn’t just bears! I’m gonna kill it! Shoot it ‘til it’s dead!”

The siblings stared at Roy, huddled and frightened. Sammy stood in front of them, facing Roy and growling protectively. Tim dragged him away from the fire and told him to cool it. 

“Don’t know what your problem is, but freaking out ain’t goin’ to help. Besides, there’s a good chance your bullets won’t do squat.”

Roy glared at him, hands clenching. “Whatever’s out there killed my family 23 years ago. Don’t know why I survived, but I’m gonna make sure _it doesn’t_.” The last words were spit out venomously and he turned away to go digging through the ruined tents.

Haley stared at the Marshals, wide eyed. When she spoke, her voice quivered. “What... what’s going on here? It’s not bears? What are those symbols for?”  
Raylean was beginning to think this would be a _very_ long night. “We need to settle in, protect ourselves. Wendigo can’t cross protection symbols.”

Ben broke his stunned silence. “Wendi-WHAT?” The pitch of his voice rises as his panic increases. “You people are all crazy, we’re going to die out here!” 

Raylean glared at the siblings, then spoke firmly to Haley. “You need to calm him down right now. We just need to stay put and hike back out in the morning.”

Haley got right up in her face, a feat since she’s at least a head shorter than Raylean. “Tommy might still be alive and I’m not leaving without him.” 

Gently but firmly pushing the girl away from her, Raylean kept her tone even. “Right now, we need to stay calm and survive the night. We’ll look for him when it’s light.”

After the last light faded from the sky, the group huddled around the fire, sharing water, jerky and M&M’s. Even though nobody felt like sleeping, it was suggested they settle in to get some rest. One sleeping bag was in good enough shape to use, so Haley and Ben got that. Roy sat on a stump glaring out into the night. Raylean settled in on the ground leaning against a log, stretching her legs out next to the fire. Tim sat on the log and handed her a leather-bound flask. She took a hefty swig and handed it back, feeling the burn down her throat. After taking a pull himself, he tried to hand it back, but she refused, wanting to stay sharp.

When Haley asked, “What’s a Wendigo?” Raylean and Tim took turns explaining about how in colder areas, they’re usually created when an isolated, starving human turns to cannibalism. They explained that they hibernate, and store their food in a safe place, which is why they think their brother might still be alive.

Later, exhaustion helped the siblings fall into a fitful sleep, the dog curled around them for warmth. Roy was still staring off into the woods and Tim had curled himself close to the fire, trying to nap. Raylean began to get the feeling they were being watched, and started to get restless. There’s a snap of a twig, and Roy’s on his feet, rifle in hand. “Roy!” she whispered violently at him, “Put that thing down before you get one of us shot!”

Roy’s knuckles were white where he was clenching his gun. “It’s out there. It’s out there and I ain’t gonna be its supper tonight.”

Rolling her eyes, she stood up, stretching her legs, working the stiffness out of them. 

A rustling of leaves sounds closer, and Roy fired a shot into the darkness. “Goddamnit, Roy, you don’t even know what you’re shooting at!” Raylene tried to wrestle the rifle away from him, but he pushed her back, falling into Tim, who was trying to stand up. Roy dashed off into the blackness, screaming vengeance. Haley and Ben were sitting up, clinging to each other in fear, Sammy barking in the direction Roy ran off. Moments later, they hear Roy scream, and the cry is cut short. 

No one got any more sleep that night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I was supposed to kill the darn monster, but I need to deliver in bite-sized chunks so I can do the formatting without losing my mind.


	5. I Walk Through the Valley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ding-Dong, down goes the Wendigo.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had to edit everything after realizing that Marshal is only spelled with one L.
> 
> *shakes fist at HTML editing correcting itself* Give me what I want!

At dawn, they shared the last of their provisions and broke camp. After a brief argument with Haley and Ben insisting they weren’t turning back without Tommy, they started their search in the direction Roy had rushed off to during the night. They followed his footprints into the brush until they saw blood smearing the underbrush. Here, it looked like something had been dragged. This led them to a clearing where all other sign on the ground abruptly stopped.

Sammy looked uneasy, whining and tense. Tim nudged Raylean with his elbow and gestured with his head toward a tree trunk. Right at head-height across a straight pine were blood-smeared claw marks deep in the wood. Looking around, they noticed other trees with similar marks, all above their heads.

Tim sidled up to Raylean and asked, “Don’t those marks seem a little too obvious to you?”

Nodding, she reached down to her holster, popping the button on the strap for ease of access.

Haley reached out to touch a claw mark when something dark dripped onto her arm. Realizing it was blood, she gasped, looking straight up to see the mangled body of Roy dangling from branches. Screaming, she backed up, stumbled over a root, and then took off, running frantically.

“C’mon, we gotta go, go, GO!” Raylean took off after the girl, afraid she’d attracted the Wendigo’s attention. Tim and Ben were close behind.

The terrain was rough but Haley managed to run with the surefootedness of a frightened animal. Raylean was slowed by trying to avoid breaking her own neck. She heard someone trip and fall, but as she glanced back, Tim waved her on as he helped pick Ben up. She was slowly gaining on Haley, when she nearly ran face-first into her back as she suddenly stopped cold. A huge, misshapen form loomed above them and Haley screamed.

\-------------------------

Raylean drifted in and out of consciousness. Her arms were tied above her head, leaving her body dangling with the toes of her boots scraping the floor. She faded in and out, eyes rolling.

 

> _A brief glimpse of a too-tall, gaunt and barely human-looking form creeping past, the smell of rotting flesh and stale dust, the sound of her own breath wheezing._  
>  _The aches of her body, the pulling sensation along her arms, the rough rope biting into her wrists._  
>  _The sound of feet and whispered voices, splintering wood, a crash, surprised cries, beams of light pinwheeling in the darkness, and the thump of something landing in the dim room._  
>  _Gentle slaps on her cheek, a voice calling her name._

“Raylean? Hey. Hey, come on, wake up. You with me?” She latched on to that deep, smooth voice, feeling warm breath and a gentle hand on her face. She tried to focus on the shape in front of her. Her tongue, fat and useless in her mouth, lolled out as she tried to lick her split bottom lip. Her head throbbed as she focussed on eyes that looked midnight blue in the dim light. “Uh, Tim?”

“Hold on, alright? I’m gonna cut you loose.” Tim held her hands steady while slicing through the rope. She nearly fell when the binding sliced though and Tim helped ease her onto a large rock. One hand gripping her arm firmly, he ran the other over her head, having noticed a trickle of blood at her hairline. “You okay?”

When his fingers grazed a sore lump, she winced, and the pain helped clear the rest of the cobwebs from her head. “Yeah, just peachy.”

As soon as Tim was sure she wouldn’t fall over, he went to help Ben cut down Haley, who was now also conscious.

“Nice trick, leaving the candy trail, better than breadcrumbs,” said Tim, coming back to Raylean’s side with the last of his water.

“Huh? oh, yeah.” She fuzzily remembered being carried over the shoulder of the monster after it had whacked her against a tree. The bag of leftover M&M's had almost fallen out of her pocket, and inspiration caused her to try to remain conscious long enough to try to give the guys a brightly-colored clue. She groaned at the pain in her side as she tried to stand up, hoping her ribs weren’t broken. “Where is it?”

“Gone for now.” Tim looked up to see Ben helping Haley limp toward another body dangling across the dark space.

“No… Tommy…” Haley sobbed. As she reached out to touch the bedraggled figure, Tommy suddenly heaved a breath, raising his head at the sound of his sister’s voice. Tim rushed to help cut him down and the other siblings crowded the collapsed form of their brother as they grasped hands and touched faces, reassuring each other with quiet whispers of relief and encouragement. Raylean managed to steady herself on her feet and placed a hand on Tim’s shoulder.

“We gotta get out of here, now.”

Tim nodded and pulled Tommy’s arm across his shoulders, heaving him to an upright position, with Ben holding him up on the other side. As the group worked their way upwards toward the exit, they began to hear the shufflings of the creature deep in the tunnels.

“Sounds like it’s home,” whispered Raylean.

“We can’t outrun it,” hissed Haley, holding onto Tim’s free arm for support.

Raylean turned down the tunnel where they heard the shuffling and back at the group, looking Tim in the eye. “Alright, listen. Tim, you get them outta here.”

He looked at her incredulously. “What are you gonna do?”

She gave a half-smile and winked at him.

She and Tim stared at each other, him angrily, her with an almost flippant air, neither wanting to back down. Reaching into her jacket, she pulled out the flare gun, Zippo and a small bottle of lighter fluid. The bright orange of the gun attracted his attention, and she used his distraction to cram the lighter and accelerant into his hand. “We’re both armed, but you’re strong enough to haul them outta here. If I don’t distract it, they’ll be sending search parties after _us_. Now go!”

With a look that said she was being immeasurably stupid, Tim placed Tommy’s arm around his neck and guided the siblings toward what he hoped was the mine’s entrance. Raylean picked up a decent sized stick and hurried in the opposite direction. When the tunnels split, she picked a different one that seemed to incline, hoping for another exit. Banging the stick against a post, she called out, “Chow time, you freaky bastard! Yeah, that’s right, bring it! I taste GOOD, baby!” while dashing up the new route. Her ribs ached, but she wrapped an arm around her middle knowing this may be their only chance of escape.

\--------------------

Tim found the tunnel where they had entered the mine and motioned Haley to take Tommy’s arm. “Get him outta here.”

“Tim, no,” Haley pleaded.

“I said _go_! Go.”

After he was certain the siblings would make it out, he rushed back to the nearest split in the tunnel, back against the rough stone, listening. No way was he about to leave Raylean in here to die. He could hear the sounds of rocks shifting, close. Peeking around the corner, he came face to face with the leather-skinned Wendigo. Stumbling back in surprise, he instinctively reached for his weapon, drew and fired. His bullet sparked off the tunnel surface, distracting the creature and he turned to run up the tunnel.

He could see daylight up ahead, knew he had to deal with the monster before it could attack the others. Pulling the lighter fluid from his jacket pocket, he flipped the nozzle, turned, and squirted the fluid straight into the Wendigo’s face. As he tried to light the Zippo, the Wendigo flailed its long limbs, smacking him to the ground and knocking the lighter from his hand. As he reached for it, he was grabbed by the ankle and dragged back down the tunnel.

The sounds of a dog’s barking grew closer, and he looked up to see Sammy charging straight for them. _Dammit, kids must have untied him_. The dog leapt at the monster, trying to get a grip and hold on with his jaws. But the Wendigo easily flung the dog into the side of the tunnel, and after a yip as he collided with the wall, he fell silent.

With a raspy growl, the creature turned back to Tim. He had scrambled to his knees, pistol at the ready. It might not do much against it, but he wouldn't go down without perforating the bastard.

Just as he was about to squeeze the trigger, Raylean’s voice echoed towards him. “Hey! You want some white meat, Bitch? I’m right here!” The Wendigo turned to face her, and Tim could see her a few yards down the tunnel, feet shoulder width apart, the orange flare gun leveled in her hands. She fired and the flare streaked down the tunnel and stuck into the monster’s abdomen, lighting it up. As the lighter fluid ignited it wailed, and they watched as it roasted between them.

With the Wendigo dead, they searched the chambers of the abandoned mine and found their packs. Using a satellite phone, they placed a call for an extraction. Poor Sammy was alive, but probably had some internal injuries to go along with a few broken ribs. Even Tommy seemed not so bad off, just banged up a bit, filthy, dehydrated and half-starved. The other boys hadn't fared as well; what was left of them would be taken out in body bags. While waiting on their own rescue team (nope, that wasn’t embarrassing), Tim tried to clean the wound on Raylean’s head, only to have her smack his hands away. He didn’t even try to assess the damage to her torso, and she figured he was a fast learner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And soon, we will return to the Justified-based portion of this fic.
> 
> As always, comments and constructive criticism are welcome.


	6. The More Things Change

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylean has to go back home to speak with the new widow of Boyd's brother. She finds more than she expected.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Trigger Warning* Conversation about Domestic Violence. It was hard to write, let alone read.  
> Much of the convo is from the script, but added & tweaked.
> 
> Longer chapter than usual, wasn't sure where to cut it off.  
> Will have at least a week break, first of the month is hectic at work and will need to actually _**do**_ work. :-P

After their little adventure, Raylean ended up getting a ride to the hospital thanks to a couple of very persistent (and not bad looking) EMTs. Fortunately, her ribs weren’t broken, just bruised. Sammy did have broken ribs and would be at the veterinarian’s for a while. Bobby offered her a ride to her extended stay hotel room and fussed over her until she convinced him she didn’t have a concussion and that she insisted on coming to work tomorrow. Once she was finally alone, she filled the tub with hot water and soaked for at least an hour. Feeling somewhat human again, she gently eased onto the bed and stared at the ceiling until sleep overtook her.

\-----------------------------

Raylean, with her stiff muscles and bruised ribs, made it to work a whole ten minutes early. To reward herself, she got two Bavarian cream doughnuts and an extra large coffee at the shop close to their office building. The first didn’t even survive the elevator. Stepping out, she found her new desk and settled in. The other doughnut and about half her coffee saw her through the arrival of her fellow Marshals.

Tim and Raylean had just finished their Wendigo debriefing when Rachel came in with something new to add to their plates. “Hey, you know Bowman Crowler?”

Raylean looked up at Rachel (she could finally remember her last name was Turner), who was standing by Raylean’s desk acting very smug. “I do believe I remember him. Boyd’s brother, had big plans that never materialized, last I heard he was digging coal.”

Rachel nodded. “Remember his wife, Meg?”

Raylean thought about that for a moment. “I knew a Meg, brother was a big football star in high school.” She did a doubletake, “ _She’s_ married  to Bowman?”

Rachel’s eyebrow arched. “Was. Plugged him last night with a thirty-ought-six. Right in the heart.”

Raylean reclined in her chair, stunned as Rachel continued. “She admits shooting him, said she got tired of Bowman getting drunk and beating on her. Arraigned  this morning on her own recognizance.”

Bobby came over to join the group. “Prosecutor must have known what a right prick her husband had been.” He nodded at Rachel,  “You talk to her?”

“I did, told her Boyd might come after her, but she said it was none of my business. I said it would be if he shot her.”

Bobby nodded thoughtfully. “We should go talk to her again. Might help us find Boyd. Turns out he might be involved with that church fire. Got her address?” Rachel handed over the file she was holding.

While Bobby and Tim went to map Meg’s address, Rachel leaned against the desk. “First time a man lays a hand on me? I’d cut off his man-beans with a carpet knife.”

Raylean had been taking a sip of coffee and almost spewed it. _Man-beans. Seriously._

Tim came back looking frustrated. “Good luck finding her house; tried to map it, got nothing.”

Raylean looked at the address on file and Bobby said, “The wonders of technology. I guess places like North Korea and Raylean’s home town ain’t been entered yet.”

Raylean raised her eyebrows and looked up a Bobby. “I think I know where this is.”

Bobby nodded at her, “ You want to go talk to her?”

“I wouldn’t mind.”

\--------------------

Bobby insisted Raylean start using one of the official Marshal vehicles in case she needed the extra hardware they came with. Raylean ended up with a slick Town Car that made the bumps and potholes of the unkempt roads of Hell County almost feel smooth. While she drove, she put in a mix CD of classic rock and sang along to Van Halen while thinking of the last time she had set foot there.

Meg, whose last name was Masters in school, was a year behind Raylean and a cheerleader, one of the popular girls. Her brother, Tom, was on the football team and looked like sex on two legs to almost any girl in school. Heck, maybe some of the teachers, too. Raylean hadn’t been popular, but Meg hadn’t been a complete snob and was one of her few friends. She and Tom had flirted a bit, but Raylean had known better than to touch that with a ten-foot-pole. Well, until that one night…

Shaking herself from her reverie, she started looking for the old landmarks that helped a person navigate backwoods like this. Def Leppard’s “Rocket” started and she enjoyed trying to hit all the notes, but mumbling some of the lines. Never could remember all the lyrics to some parts. When she noticed the old dilapidated barn with JESUS SAVES painted in giant white letters, she knew she was headed in the right direction and turned right onto a dirt road. Raylean realized she’d missed the hills and winding roads which were virtually nonexistent in Florida.

She had been assigned to Miami after her training, and differences between there and here were striking. The “nice” houses around here looked worn and sad compared to the shining palaces of the rich in Miami. Lexington was better for it, but lacked the gloss and glamour that accompanied the stars that vacationed in their Florida homes. Even the slums of Miami looked better than here, where there weren’t any city ordinances to keep junk and old clunkers on blocks out of yards.

Mining had taken its toll here as well. Mountains had been topped, forests cut down to make way for the equipment necessary to haul away the solid lifeblood of the area that was coal. There wasn’t much else than coal around here, it was one of the reasons she had wanted out so badly. She stewed in her thoughts the rest of the way to Meg’s address.

\--------------------

Raylean recognized the house as soon as she pulled up. She had come here for parties and had helped haul off more than her fair share of drunken friends and ex-boyfriends. It was one of the houses owned by the Crowler family, one of Bowman’s cousin’s. Apparently, Bowman had taken it over. It was two stories and simple, with  a front porch taking up the entire front. The yellow paint was faded but not flaking and the white rails of the porch looked like they could use a fresh coat of whitewash. A dirt driveway took up a good portion of the front yard, the rest was patchy scrubgrass. A shiny black 1966 GTO was parked almost right in front of the door, and she remembered it had been Meg’s father’s pride and joy. She pushed away a few other choice memories she had about the vehicle as she parked alongside it and stretched sorely when she got out of the Town Car.

Steps and porch creaked on her way to the door and she knocked on the door frame. She wasn’t expecting who answered. Staring at her through the screen door was Tom Masters, and _damn_ if he didn’t look fine. At six feet tall, he was only three inches taller than Raylean, but her boot heels brought her almost eye-to-eye with him. Dark brown eyes looked at her suspiciously beneath a shaggy mane of black hair. He had lost his babyfat after high school, his jaw defined and square. A gray tee-shirt outlined well-defined muscles and she had to gather all her will to avoid looking any further south. Tom inclined his head, and asked, “Who’re you, and what do you want?”

Raylean smiled slightly and gathered herself into friendly-yet-professional mode. “Shoulda realized you’d be here when I saw that car.” She brushed aside her jacket to show her badge. “Raylean Givchester, deputy U.S. Marshal.”

He rocked back at that and eyed her up and down, eyes growing wide. “Holy shit. Ray?” The screen door flew open and she was engulfed by his strong arms, almost knocking the hat off her head. He pushed back to take a look at her, hands firm on her upper arms. he smiled a cat-like grin and then turned to shout back into the house, “Hey, Meg! Get the hell out here, see who showed up!”

He let go and Raylean stood there trying to recover from having her sore ribs being crushed when she saw a sad, bedraggled woman come down the hallway, shouting, “What the hell, Tom, can’t you see I’m trying to finish…” Meg stopped to stare at Raylean.

This was not the perky cheerleader Raylean had last laid eyes on nearly a decade ago. Meg’s long hair was a mess, held together at the top with a large hairclip. It looked dirty blonde, with brown roots showing about an inch deep. Her weary brown eyes had dark circles underneath and  her lips were pinched thin, her face splotchy and a little ashen. She wore an old plaid shirt rolled up to her elbows, yellow rubber gloves clutched in one hand. Her jeans were stained, torn and hung loose on her hips. Raylean felt sorry for what this woman had been through and removed her Stetson, a little embarrassed for her.

“Raylean?” Meg said slowly, as if she were trying to wrap her head around the figure that stood before her. She rushed to give Raylean a hug, much gentler than Tom’s had been. “Oh my god, it’s good to see you.”

“At least you remember me.”

“We’d never forget you, we were so worried after you disappeared.” Meg gave her brother a pointed look and he made an effort to look anywhere else but the two women. She turned back to Raylean, hands on her hips. “So where have you been, and why have you showed up now?”

Tom whispered, “Show her your badge.”

Raylean smiled and brushed aside her coat again, removing the badge clip from her belt and showing it to Meg. “Became a deputy Marshal, just transferred back to Kentucky... Heard about Bowman.” Her mouth pursed at the end of that sentence and she looked down, not wanting to see Meg’s eyes at the mention of that name.

Meg sighed, “Well, we can’t all avoid ruining our lives. I told Bowman I wanted a divorce? He goes, ‘You file, you’ll never be seen again.’ Said I’d disappear from the face of the earth.” She paused for a moment, sucking her teeth. “Where the hell are my manners? Standing on the porch flapping our gums. Come on in, d’you want a drink?”

They filed into the house and Meg settled Raylean on the sofa in front of the windows overlooking the porch. Meg dashed off to the kitchen and Tom stood looking uncomfortable at the doorframe, hands clasped in front, rocking back on his heels and looking around uncomfortably.

“Uh,” he started, jerking a thumb over his shoulder, “I’ll just…” And he slunk off to the kitchen.

Raylean looked around the living room, noting the faded floral wallpaper, the buck’s head mounted on the wall, the threadbare but clean furniture. The coffee table was scuffed from boots being propped on it and she could make out a few faint water stains in the varnish.

Meg called out, “What would you like? I got Coke, Sprite, maybe a beer?”

Raylean thought about it before replying, “Actually, if I could get a glass of ice water, that would be perfect.”

Meg and Tom came back in, Tom with Raylean’s ice water and a beer for himself, Meg with a can of Coke. When Raylean took the glass, her hand brushed his, and he cleared his throat, looking away as he settled into an armchair on the other side of the room. Meg settled right next to her on the sofa, turned to face her, and gave a good, long look up and down, making note of the dark boot-cut jeans, the light-blue fitted shirt, the navy business jacket and the stetson now perched on the arm of the sofa.  

“Look at you, done pretty good for yourself. I remember when all you used to wear was old band t-shirts and ratty boy’s jeans held up with an old belt.”

Raylean glanced down to her lap, jaw clenching. “You know that wasn’t always by choice, Meg.” She didn’t like to think about what it was like living in a foster home, being one of the few girls and having to wear hand-me-downs the boys had outgrown, that had been hand-me-downs before. She tried to change the subject, looking up at Meg. “So, you and Bowman?”

It was Meg’s turn to look into her lap, and she sighed. “I married him a year out of high school because he was cute, he was sure of himself and he told me he was gonna get out of that coal mine, start a business with his daddy. Whatever it was they were doing, Boyd must’ve been better at it ‘cause one day Bowman, he came home drunk, yelling about having to go back to the mines, and that was the first time he ever hit me. Of course, the next day, he apologised. It was the drink he said, his frustrations of disappointing his daddy, having to go back to digging coal.

“Over time, little things would set him off. I forget to fill the ice trays, Bowman’d start slappin me. ‘Don’t you know how to keep house?’ Eventually, he said it was all my fault he hit me. My fault he had to dig coal. My fault I miscarried after he kicked me with his steel-toed boots. My fault he didn’t have a son to take hunting with him and his creepy brother Boyd.” Tom had heard enough at this point, and stomped out the front door.

Raylean placed a hand gently over Meg’s, soothing, and she continued. “Tom found out about it once, I couldn’t hide the bruise he’d left on my neck after choking me. They got in a fight, and then I wasn’t allowed to see my own brother no more. Said he’d kill me and whoever I told if anyone else found out what he did to me.” She shuddered, and Raylean wondered what else had been done to her other than beatings.

“Last time he hit me was because I called his brother creepy to his face. He kept after me with his belt till I fell and hit my head on the stove.” She took a hitching breath, squeezed Raylean’s hand and looked her in the eye. “I got up from that floor knowing he was never gonna hit me again. The next night, he came in, I had his favorite supper on the table. Ham and yams, cream-style corn and leftover okra fixed with tomatoes. I waited until he was shoveling food into his face? And then got his deer rifle from the kitchen closet and went in there and did what I had to do.”

Meg glanced up at the doorway, in the direction of the dining room. “I’ve been cleaning it up. Had to scrub the walls with Pine-Sol, you know, to get the stain off of ‘em?”

Raylean saw the haunted look in Meg’s eye and tried to get her to focus. “Did you have to load the rifle before firing it?”

Meg turned back to her and one side of her mouth quirked. “Is that my old friend Raylean asking or the Marshal? Bowman always kept it loaded.” She reached up to feel the back of her head. “Still got a knot where I hit my head on the stove. Wanna feel it?” As she felt her head, she looked like she just realized her state of disarray. “Good Lord, my hair’s a mess. Shouldn’t let anyone see me like this.” She stood up, looking herself over and sighing.

Raylean stood as well, quieting Meg’s nervous hands with her own. “Look, this isn't supposed to be a social call. I came down here on business.”

Meg brushed her hands away and headed for the stairs. “Well you can hang around a while, go catch up with Tom, and tell me all about your business after I get a shower.”

 _Now that’s the Meg I remember._ Raylean smiled wistfully as she headed out the front door in search of Meg’s brother. Tom was leaning on the hood of his car, drinking his beer. They nodded to each other and she ran her fingers along the smooth metal as she came up to him. “Nice to see you’re still taking care of your daddy’s car.”

Tom ducked his head and shoved one hand in the front pocket of his jeans, which outlined his quite nicely toned legs. “S’ mine now. He passed away three years ago. Got the black lung, then caught pneumonia. Suffocated to death.”

“I’m so sorry, Tom.”

He let a slow breath out between pursed lips. “Don’t be, he died in his sleep, hopped up on medication. If anything, he suffered a little less by going sooner.”

Raylean _really_ needed to change the subject and scoured her brain for something… oh, right. “So, what kind of work you do now? You don’t look like a coal miner.”

He looked sideways at her and placed a hand on the hood of his car. “Working on cars, next county over. Got a nice setup, do a bit of restoration.” He looked thoughtful for a moment before turning to face Raylean but not looking her in the eye. “Hey, um… so, when you left, it was right after… you know…” Oh, she knew exactly what he meant, and swallowed, looking away. “Was… was it my fault? I mean…”

She held up her hand, shaking her head. “No, Tom, it wasn’t your fault. I just…” She sighed, “I just needed to get out of town, and I acted on it after that night was all. If anything, think of it as me saying goodbye.”

They stood there uncomfortably for a moment, Tom blushing furiously, then he shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. “So… You gonna be around for a while? I need to run to the store, but haven’t wanted to leave Meg alone…”

“You go right ahead, I need to talk to her some more about business.”

He nodded, handed her his mostly empty beer, got into the GTO and started it, the rumble of powerful muscle car breaking the silence. He raised a hand as he left and she reciprocated, watching the car disappear around a bend. Taking a deep breath, she walked back up to the house and gently closed the screen door behind her to prevent it banging. Sitting down on the sofa again and taking a long drink of her water, she relaxed back into the cushions and thought about the night she left Hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Character sheet updated.
> 
> Is it weird that I'm excited about my silly story hitting triple digits?


	7. The More They Stay the Same

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylean remembers the night she decided to leave, and an unwelcome visitor comes for Meg.

It had been late fall in her senior year of high school and she was tired of it all. Crappy little nothing town, crappy school, she was seventeen and so sure that she would drown in nothingness if she didn’t change something, and soon. She was living in the home of Arlo Givchester, a crazy bastard who happened to somehow be related to her. He was her only living blood relative as far as anyone knew. Originally, he had turned down taking care of her when her parents died until he found out there was money to be had through the foster system. Subsidies. He used the checks he got from that and a small trust from some property her father had  owned to traffic meth-making supplies. All legal, technically, unless you had a shed-full of it all combined. How he didn’t get caught for so long was beyond her. She was tired of having to wear threadbare, ill-fitting clothes, and having socks with holes, and eating the cheapest generic food that could be bought. Sometimes he even made her run errands to deliver the supplies to the drug cookers.

She’d learned to fight partially due to her home life, which was often full of rowdy delinquent teens from Arlo realizing he could expand his business if he “took care” of more kids, and because she got tired of being picked on. She’d developed a reputation for protecting others who were bullied. Her nickname had been “Raylean the Amazon Queen” after her growth spurt happened early enough to make her taller than most anybody back in sixth grade, and she wasn’t afraid to kick a boy’s ass. Unfortunately, this affected her social life.

Her propensity for fighting made her a bit of a pariah. What boy wanted to be friends with a girl who could put him down in a fight? She was practically a tomboy with little fashion sense, so most girls didn’t have anything in common with her. Yet she still got the occasional boyfriend, which Meg always said that proved just how pretty she actually was. She never thought that was the case. More often than not, the few boys who seemed interested in her were just trying for bragging rights.

Arlo finally got busted when another foster kid got caught delivering supplies to a cook. The cops had grilled the poor boy until he gave up the location of the supply shed. The fact Arlo had been there at the time pretty much erased his plausible deniability. As Raylean wasn’t yet eighteen, she was going to be shuttled back into the system. There weren’t that many local families, so that probably meant finishing out her senior year somewhere else. When she had heard the news, she avoided going home.

She’d run into Tom Masters at Tesh’s Market and they ended up just driving around in his daddy’s GTO. He had managed to get a six-pack of beer and they parked just off a mining road to drink their sorrows away. Tom hadn’t heard about the bust yet, so she pretended it hadn’t happened, instead complaining about her most recent break-up, the cheating bastard. They joked and flirted and drank the cheap beer he had convinced the cashier to sell him without checking his ID. It’s amazing what he could get away with around the ladies.

Somewhere around the second beer, they had started kissing; sloppy, wet kisses full of desperation and need.  This led to her straddling his lap with her shirt off while he fondled her breasts and she ground down onto his clothed crotch. Not much later they ended up in the back of the car with very little clothing on, sweaty and breathing hard, steaming up the windows. It had been hot and awkward and felt really, really awesome at the time.

After their breaths had returned to normal and their clothes were back in place however… She felt like something had shifted inside of herself. They could never go back to just being friends after this. And the Masters were the closest friends she’d ever had. Hell, she would probably never see them again, depending on where the system placed her. But when she looked up into the night sky as he drove her home, both quiet and awkward, all she could see was possibility… and change. Just because she had to leave didn’t mean she couldn't do it on her own terms.

After sneaking back into the house which was festooned with police tape, she packed a bag with about a week’s worth of clothes, raided Arlo’s hidden cash stash, (lucky they hadn’t found that yet) and was waiting on the first bus to anywhere when the sun colored the sky. She traveled south, stopping along the way to see the sights and make some quick cash. Her final stop for a while was Orlando, Florida and she worked part-time jobs at the various theme parks; Dippin Dots at Universal Studios, pretzels at Disney World, stuffed dolphins at Sea World.

After saving up to support herself, she went to a community college and got her GED, then her AA degree. After that, she transferred to Florida State University and got her Bachelor of Science degree in Criminology and Criminal Justice. Scholarships and grants helped pay for her schooling and she worked every spare minute she wasn’t studying. While working at a bail bond agency, she got accepted into the Marshal training program. She had never regretted leaving Kentucky and never expected to return. But here she was.

\--------------------

The noise of an unfamiliar engine pulling up the driveway roused Raylean out of her memories. She looked up to see a rusty old Cadillac pulling up to the house. A scrawny tattooed guy with... a fauxhawk?... wearing loose combat boots, torn jeans and a black wifebeater climbed out of the car and made his way to the porch. Raylean was waiting for him in the hallway, stetson perched on her head, hand surreptitiously near her sidearm when he opened the front door. The short man looked Raylean up and down with a leer. “Well, what do we got here?”

Raylean ignored the come-on and took in the assorted prison tats, most of them skinhead-related. One was some kind of gothic calligraphy around his neck that seemed to spell _Heil Hitler_. Classy. She pointed at the gator tooth necklace he was wearing like a choker. “You buy that, or poach the gator yourself?”

The little man puffed out his chest like a rooster. “Shot ‘er myself. Ate the tail, too.”

“So you from Florida, then?” Raylean tried to act casual, leaning against the wall with her hip.

“Near Belle Glade,” He nodded, giving her another look up and down. “Who are you, anyway?”

She pulled her badge free with one hand, slowly edging closer and keeping her other hand near her weapon. “Raylean Givchester, deputy U.S. Marshal. Who might you be?”

At hearing her full title, the man simply stood there processing the information. She swiveled her head to look him straight in the eye, “You got a name, dontcha?”

He took a moment, looking uncomfortable before answering. “Uh, Dewey, Dewey Crowe.”

Raylean raised an eyebrow. “I think I put away one of your relatives down there. A Dale Crowe?”

Dewey eyeballed her suspiciously, “Yeah, he’s kin.”

Raylean placed both hands on her hips, looking down at the increasingly squirmy man. “Uh-huh. And what brings you here, Mr. Crowe?”

Dewey tried to squirm around her sideways in an attempt to gain access to the house. “I’m here for Meg, come to take her somewheres.” He craned his neck around Raylean’s form, trying to see down the hall, calling out. “Hey, Meg!”

While avoiding touching him, Raylean held out a hand toward Dewey’s chest, fingers splayed in a restraining gesture. “Now, I don’t know how you know Meg, but you don’t just walk into someone’s house without at least knocking. Tell you what. Go on back outside, knock on the door. I’ll ask Meg if she wants you here. She does? You come on in. If not? You can be on your way.”

Deweys hands curled into fists and he glared up at Raylean. “Aight, I go back out there,” he pointed at the door, “And I’m comin’ right back in.” He swiveled, keeping his eyes turned to her as he stomped out the door and off the porch towards his car.

Raylean closed her eyes, sighed, and removed her jacket to hang on the stair banister. She flipped the snap on her weapon open on her way out the door. She had a feeling this guy would be trouble and this was confirmed when she noticed him pulling a shotgun from his trunk. She made her way down the porch stairs with a calm air. Dewey paused halfway between the car and the house, gun raised and pointed straight at her.

She raised a hand in a placating gesture. “You better hold on a sec there, Mr. Crowe, while I explain something.” Dewey had a twitchy look and Raylean sighed in exasperation. She lowered her hands to her sides, loose. “The purpose of a gun is to kill, right? I don’t pull my sidearm unless that’s what I’m gonna do, kill. S’ how I use it. Think about that before it’s too late.” She gave him a serious, wide-eyed look from under the brim of her hat.

Dewey bared his teeth at her, even more nervous at her calm demeanor. “Jesus Christ, I got a scattergun pointed right atcha.”

Raylean nodded. “But can you get it shucked before I put a hole in you?” She stared him down for a moment, seeing the indecision in his eyes. Then she firmly walked up to him, pushing away the barrel of his gun and twisting it from his grasp. With her other hand, she twisted one of his arms behind his back and pushed him back to the rustbucket he drove there in.

“Where you planning on taking Meg?”

Dewey twisted to try to look back at her. “Woman, what the hell’s wrong with you?”

She pulled his arm up tighter, causing him to yelp. “Gonna take her to see Boyd?”

“That’s none of your-” She pushed him up against the car with a thud, then let him loose to open the driver side door.

“I used to know Boyd. You see him? Tell him I’m around, alright?” She pushed him into the car, closed the door and ejected the shells out of the shotgun before tossing it in the backseat. She reached in and placed her palm on the back of Dewey’s neck. “You know what?  If I were you, I’d do something safer, stop this skinhead bullshit and go back to shootin’ gators.”

Dewey had been a little cowardly shit through all this, but at those words, his eyes narrowed. “Next time I set eyes on those tits of yours-”

Raylean squeezed the back of Dewey’s head and slammed it down hard on the steering wheel, causing it to honk and him to grunt with an “oof”.  He came away with a bloody lip. She hunched down to look Dewey straight in the  face, and he grimaced with pain.

“You tell Boyd Crowler that Raylean Givchester wants to see him.” With that, she turned and walked into the house without a single glance back.

As Raylean shut the door, Meg appeared at the top of the stairs, hairbrush in hand. “There a problem, Ray?”

“No, I took care of it.”

Tom rushed into the house, almost knocking Raylean over. “What was Dewey Crowe doin’ here?” He gave a sigh of relief at the sight of his sister safe and unharmed.  

Meg started down the stairs. “The one with the Hitler tats? Buddies with Bowman, I think.”

Raylean looked from one sibling to another, serious. “We need to talk.”

They all settled back into the living room before she continued. “Meg, have you seen Boyd, since…?” She nodded in the direction of the dining room.

Meg shook her head. “Not yet, but I know I will, he’s _been_ …” she rolled her eyes and raised an eyebrow, “You know, after me.”

Raylean was afraid that had more than one meaning. “Yeah, we wanna keep an eye on you. We’ve been after him, trying to catch him in the act. Robbing a bank, blowing up a church…”

Tom spoke up, frowning. “Making an attempt on my sister’s life?”

Meg snorted. “Boyd don’t wanna shoot me.”

“But you said he was after you.”

Meg scoffed at her brother. “He wants to-” she bit her bottom lip, “Have… me.” She looked to Raylean. “You want my help catching him?”

“First, I’d like to get him to talk to me.”

Meg looked at her brother. “I think we could arrange that.”

“You know where he is?”

Tom ducked his head, looking down at his clasped hands in his lap. “I do.”

“You going to tell me?”

He looked up at Raylean with a scowl, then nodded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So has anyone actually made it this far? If so, thanks for reading!


	8. The Bible Tells Me So

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylean finds Boyd and confronts him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay here. It took a while to find Boyd's voice, and to twist the Supernatural elements in. But now I have a couple more chapters backlogged!  
> It's been a challenge to keep the story parallel while twisting in the slightly new plot and keeping their voices true to character.

It was late afternoon as Raylean pulled up to an abandoned church near the outskirts of nowhere. Kudzu was encroaching from the woods and had covered the back end of the building. Long tendrils snaked their way toward the front of the building, across peeling white boards and rotten shingles that would be entirely covered within a year or two. Overgrown bushes obscured the windows, making it almost impossible to see inside. A silver Dodge Ram Quad Cab 4X4 was parked near the front steps in the tall grass, all chromed out with dual exhaust pipes rising above the cab.

She pulled in behind the truck, but at an angle so she could step onto the broken, weed-choked walkway leading up to the church steps. Leave it to Boyd, she thought, to go live in an abandoned church as a hideaway. As she strode up to the steps, the arched doors swung wide and there stood Boyd Crowder himself, a man with windblown dark hair in his late thirties, wearing a dark shirt that he buttoned all the way to the top button. He paused for a moment, holding both doors, looking down at her with a bemused expression on his face.

“Well, well. If it isn’t the long-lost lamb, returning to her homeland. We was wondering who drove a Town Car.” Boyd released the doors, arms raised to his sides invitingly, and made his way down the stairs with a wide smile on his face. “Look at you. All suited up and lookin’ good!”

With Boyd’s arms open wide, Raylean feared he would try to hug her, but she tried to defuse the situation by holding out her hand to shake as he closed in on her. He clasped her hand firmly then pulled her in to wrap his other arm around her back, their clasped hands caught between them. He didn’t release her until she at least patted his back. When they parted, he placed his hand on her shoulder and turned to look at the scraggly looking bearded man hanging back in the doorway.

“You see this?” He pointed at Raylean’s stetson,  “All casual, not down around your goddamn ears? This is how you wear a hat.”

Raylean was trying to act casual, but this man, a criminal by all accounts, who she hasn’t seen in almost ten years, was being just a mite overfamiliar for her tastes. She remembered he did that a lot when she knew him before, and Meg was right. It was a little creepy. Boyd turned to face her again, his light green-hazel eyes serious, but his smile remained playful. He led her by the shoulder up the steps and into the building, still talking.  

“Devil, get us a couple of clean glasses and a jar of my finest. Us two are going to catch up.” He glanced up at the other man, who was standing there confuzzled. “Well, go on!” The man shuffled toward a back door as Raylean was led inside.

“You’ll have to pardon him,” Boyd explained, “He’s just been released and is still adjusting.”

Raylean looked at Boyd, just a little shorter than her, and breathed a non-committal “Uh-huh.” Boyd just laughed.

Inside the old church, half the pews were still lined up on the left side, with a large wooden desk, an ancient rusty fridge and some cabinets taking up the right. Rolled up in the far corner were sleeping bags, blankets and some pillows. Spraypainted on the stained walls in black and red were Nazi swastikas, various other skinhead symbols, and… something else. Different, more subtly painted white, she could see sigils, wardings, symbols for summoning, some used in witchcraft. Some she didn’t even recognize.

She looked askance at Boyd, and he had two jelly-jar glasses in one hand, a Mason jar half-full of clear liquid in the other. The other man disappeared again into the back of the church. She held the glasses as Boyd poured generous amounts into both and twisted the jar’s lid back on. Sniffing hers to test the potency, she waited for Boyd to take his glass. They clinked and she watched as he upended his in one swallow and didn’t even grimace. She took a small sip, feeling the burn and thinking it to be about as strong as you could get moonshine. She thought it wise to not drink much more, so lowered her glass. She made a face to acknowledge the strength of the fumes coming off it.

“I’m still on duty, so I should watch myself.”

Boyd simply grinned, waving her over to the pews. “You got a long drive back?”

She nodded and sat on the edge of a wooden bench, making a point to look around the sanctuary. “So, uh, Neo-Nazi _witchcraft_ , Boyd? Really?”

He shrugged, not even glancing at the walls, and replied smoothly, “I am not responsible for the condition the building was in when I acquired it.”

He was acting casual, arms spread against the back of a pew, and she didn’t believe it for a bit. He leaned his head back, looking at her sideways, and said, “I heard from Dewey, said he saw you at Meg’s;  had to chase you off when he went to go see her.”

Raylean ran her tongue over her teeth, raised an eyebrow, and pointed with the drink still in her hand. “You tell that to his busted lip.”

Boyd leaned back and laughed up at the ceiling, showing his large, too-white teeth. They were so straight, someone would have sworn they were dentures if they didn’t know him. If she didn’t know what kind of criminal he was though, his charm might have been appealing.

“Yeah, that sounds about right. Heard you were in Florida? How was it?”

She shrugged, “About what you’d expect. Flat, sunny, and hot.”

He turned on the bench to face her, knee on the seat and foot dangling, one hand holding his ankle with the other stretched out along the back. Shaking his head, he said, “I don’t think I could handle it.” He reached for her glass and she gladly handed it over. Taking a long sip, he swirled the liquor in his mouth as if savoring a fine bourbon instead of paint stripper before swallowing and asking, “You been to see Arlo yet?”

She turned away, looking at where the cross used to hang. “No, and I don’t think I will.”

“I can understand that, seeing how he got you and those other kids caught up in that shady business. Took a while to get them all relocated, too.”  She knew he could see her jaw working, and tried to stop grinding her teeth. “You know what, he got off kinda easy for that, but then landed back in trouble after getting caught stealing mining equipment.”

She rested an elbow on her thigh and rubbed her temple with her fingers, facing away from him. she didn’t look back at him when she asked, “How’s your daddy, Boyd?”

She heard him sigh, “I suspect you know how he is.” And she did. The man always had a scam going, and was constantly in and out of prison, with a rap sheet as long as her arm. She turned to him, but he was looking at the glass, swirling the clear liquid around.

“Things haven’t changed much since you were here last. Picket lines, courts turning a blind eye to the mining company with the fattest wallet. Although you might have noticed a few mountaintops missing?” She nodded. “No more following underground seams, they just shear off the whole thing. Cheaper that way, but the runoff ruins the creeks faster. Government’s always on the side with the money, even with the environmentalists breathing down their necks.” He placed the hand holding the glass along the back of the pew and looked up at her. “Who do you think controls that money Raylean?” He looked her in the eye, and she shook her head, knowing a rant was coming. “Who, Boyd?”

“The Jews.”

Yup, here we go, she thought, the NeoNazi brainwashing. “Do you even know any Jews, Boyd?”

The look in his eyes was predatory. “You just have to know where the money comes from. You dig deep enough, you can find it. You see, this is what I tell my recruits, teach them we have a moral obligation to fight against the Jews. See, in the Bible…”

She held up her hand at this point, a little flabbergasted. “The Bible. Where?”

“It’s part of Creation. You see, in the beginning…” She tuned out his recruitment ramble at this point, not interested in how he defended his hatred of another race of humanity but nodding along when it seemed appropriate. She knew there were worse creatures out there, and they mostly thought any human was a tasty snack. Very few monsters had a racial preference for soft human flesh, it was all red underneath. She tuned back in to hear him winding down. “...and those are the Jews, as interpreted by experts.”

She shook her head, looking down at her lap and laughing softly. “You know what? I think you just use the Bible as an excuse to do whatever the hell you like.”

Boyd straightened, his eyes guarded. “And what is it you think I like, Raylean?”

She rolled her shoulders and stretched her legs. “As I recall, you like an excuse to set things on fire, blow things up. Especially if it makes you some money. I remember the insurance scams you used to pull. I also know about that guy, Devil? And his drug-selling rap sheet. I haven’t looked up Dewey yet, but seeing as he’s a Crowe, I’m sure he’s got a record, too.” Boyd’s eyes remained impassive, not giving anything away. “Why did you even think I came out here?”

He puckered his lips as if in thought, and stretched his neck from side to side. “I thought this would be about my brother and his widow.” He held out a hand, “Now, I mean her no harm, she didn’t have a choice in her actions. I loved Bowman, but everyone knew what he was like. That woman, you think about it, she has a spine on her, doing what she did. My intentions now, the Bible says a man should see to the needs of his brother’s widow and…”

“That’s enough.” Raylean let out a slow breath, “I know that you’re only hiding behind the Bible, twisting what that book says to meet your needs. Especially now that I know you’re dealing in witchcraft now, too.” She held up a hand when she saw him start to protest. “The reason I’m here, is we’ve got a church firebombed in Lexington. I think it’s because it was a pot dispensary and it pissed you off that the cops gave it a pass. I wouldn’t be surprised if you got paid to do it, either. But to those who you can brag to, you can say it’s because the preacher was black. All I can see is wins for you, any way you turn it.” She would swear there was a gleam of pride in his eyes. “So no, I don’t believe your Bible stories, I think it’s just a convenient cover-up.”

Boyd twisted his lips into some weird smirk/sneer and she could see the gears grinding behind his eyes. “You think you’ve got me pegged, huh, _Marshal_?” His tone on the last word dripping with condescension. “Well, I heard a story about your little… explosion down in Miami.”

She tried to keep a cool exterior, because who knew what weird rumors have come from that, and some might be close enough to the truth. “You did, did you?”

He leaned forward, holding eye contact, into her personal space. “Oh yeah, we’ve got internet and everything here now. Sometimes even a cell signal if you hold your mouth just right. But the stories I’ve heard about you. Tell me. What you killed in Miami, was it even human?”

Raylean made a sour expression and stood up to avoid having to lean back out of his face. “Listen. The reason I’m here is because there’s going to be a lineup at the courthouse in Lexington.” She pulled a summons from the inside pocket of her jacket and handed it to him.  “And you need to be there.”

Boyd looked from the folded paper in his hand up to her. “And why, pray tell, is that?”

“We got a witness it seems, saw whoever was the last person to enter that church before it went up in a fireball. Apparently, the suspect looks a lot like you.” Her arms were folded over her chest, feet shoulder width apart.

All she got in response was, “Uh huh.” She turned to leave, tired of Boyd’s creepy behavior and disturbing church. Looking over her shoulder, she called out, “You show up on time or we’re going to have to come get you.”

When she reached the door, Boyd called out, “Hey, Raylean?”

Hands on hips, she turned at the doorway. “Yeah?”

“One more thing, if you don’t mind. Would you shoot me, if you had to?”

Lifting her head, she replied, “I’ll take you down, if you make me.”

\--------------------

The next day, Raylean got a call from the veterinarian. It seemed that Sammy was ready to be released, and no one else wanted to keep the massive dog. Since she hadn’t found a more permanent residence yet, she plopped down the extra deposit on her room, spent some time at PetSmart, and ended up with over a hundred pounds of black, brown and white fur as a roommate.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments and suggestions, as usual, are very welcome!


	9. Thinly Veiled...

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Boyd threatens (and maybe flirts with?) Raylean.

Monday morning found Raylean and Bobby in the courthouse as the witness from the convenience store looked at a group of men through two-way glass. It didn’t look promising as the man shook his head.

“I.. I just can’t tell. It was dark, and I wasn’t paying attention until the place went up, you know?” He said, wringing his hands and shuffling his feet, uncomfortable.

Bobby patted him on the shoulder, thanked him for his time and led him to the door. As the door swung shut, he turned to face Raylean, passed a hand across his face and said, “Balls!”

Raylean was the last to step out of the dim room and watched the men from the lineup file out. Boyd gave a toothy grin and sauntered over to her. “Well, I did my part.”

She turned and began to walk down the hallway and Boyd fell in step with her. “Yeah, I figured you’d find a twisted pleasure in being able to walk right past a gathering of law enforcement.” She glanced at him sideways, “Especially since the witness didn’t have the balls to finger you.”

She made a face as she realized how she worded that, and Boyd chuckled. “Always good to talk to you, Raylean.” He patted her shoulder and turned to walk away. After a few steps, he turned back and said, “By the way, about those rumors I heard about Miami…”

Lord, here we go again, she thought, steeling herself for whatever version of events had leaked to his ears.

“One of Dewey’s cousins said that it wasn’t just a human trafficking ring you broke up down there.”

She threw him what she hoped was a bored look and he continued. “They say there was some crazy cult that drank blood and that's what they were using them for.”

She almost sighed in relief, glad that it wasn’t any weirder than that, although still too close to the truth for comfort. “You know I can’t talk about the details of a federal investigation, Boyd.”

His eyes glinted deviously as he came back over to her, face-to-face. “But I’m inclined to believe that it weren’t no cult.” She kept her features schooled to impassive as he continued, “You know and I know that there are many things that can’t be so easily explained, especially around here.” he quirked an eyebrow. “Now, if there was something… not natural, about say... a certain group of people with _specific_ dietary needs, with _particularly_ sharp teeth, then there would be incentive to not make that common knowledge, right?”

Raylean frowned at him, not liking how close to the edge of  truth he was skating with his inferences. “Boyd, you’re not going to start on one of your Bible rants again, aren’t you? ‘Cuz I ain’t got all day.”

He gave a low chuckle and twisted his lips into a smirk.  “If a certain someone with a… peculiar skillset, were to chase a certain lawman… law- _person_ … out of his business,” he leaned in closer and she could smell his cheap aftershave. “And if that person happened to become injured, or even killed, due to her refusal to stop poking her nose where it don’t belong, well… What would you say to a full day’s warning. Sound fair?”

She squared her shoulders and looked him straight in the eye. “As long as you realize that this person doesn’t respond well to threats.”

Boyd walked backwards toward the exit and pointed a finger at her. “Noon tomorrow.” With a raise of his eyebrows, he turned and left the building.

She slumped her shoulders and sighed, raising her face to look at the ceiling and wonder at how she never caught a freaking break.

In the front lobby of the courthouse, a familiar voice called to Raylean and she turned to see Tom Masters waving at her from halfway up the main stairs. She had a small smile on her face as he weaved through the people coming and going to get to her. He was dressed in black jeans and a dark striped shirt, clean work boots angled in her direction. His hair was slicked back off his forehead.

Tom grinned at her boyishly and she was reminded of when they were in high school. “So, uh, Meg’s lawyer’s talkin’ to the prosecutor. I needed to get out for a smoke. Come with me?” He nodded his head in the direction of a side door.  

She gestured  for him to lead the way, and they stepped out onto a balcony. He offered the pack and she declined before he pulled a single cigarette out with his lips. She remembered him learning that trick, and it still did things to her watching how dexterous those lips could be. He lit the end with a cheap plastic lighter and took a long drag before exhaling away from her and turning to speak.

“They're saying if she pleads to manslaughter, then she won’t serve time. But if she has to go, well...” he shrugged his shoulders, “I’d say it was worth it, wish I could take her place though.”

Raylean leaned her elbows on the railing, feeling a light breeze on her face and watched Tom take another pull on his cigarette. He leaned his hip on the railing and flicked the growing ash out away from the balcony. He looked down at his feet before looking back up at her face. “Say, if this goes well, maybe you could come over for supper?” The hopeful look on his face made her eyebrows raise  in surprise. “I mean, we could do fried chicken, and I make real good biscuits and gravy.”

The thought of honest-to-goodness biscuits and gravy had her salivating. While Miami’s as south as you can get on the East Coast, they just don’t know how to make proper biscuits and the gravy always tastes terrible. She had to lick her lips to keep from drooling at the thought. Tom laughed through a wide grin at her reaction.

“Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I’ve had decent biscuits and gravy?” She looked away, “But I shouldn't.”

“And why not?”

“Since I’m a Deputy Marshal, it’s frowned upon to… socialize with those involved in a murder investigation until after it’s settled.” She tried to not let her own disappointment show.

She watched Tom’s face fall, “Oh, well… I didn’t realize that.”

Raylean nodded and faced the breeze again as Tom took another puff on his cigarette. He ground out the stub on the railing and tossed it into the sand-filled bucket already half-full of other burnt-out butts. He took a deep breath and faced her again. “Well, you know what?” she turned to look, and he continued. “Maybe we’ll go ahead and cook all that, and if you needed to visit us in some official capacity, then it would be bad manners to not offer a plate if you happened to come by while we were sitting down to eat, right?”

She liked his thinking and grinned, and he smiled with her. They didn’t notice the two people watching them from across the street in an old rusty Cadillac.

\--------------------

The car smelled of unwashed man. Dewey Crowe sat in the driver’s seat, tapping his fingers along to country music coming from the stereo, greasy hair standing in spikes, camouflage tank top holey and stained. The man known as Devil was watching the courthouse and noticed Raylean and Tom re-enter the building. His hair was equally unwashed and hung dark and limp on his head. He scratched his beard and took a swig of something from a brown bag, then spoke, “Oh, if it wasn’t for Boyd, I’d love to have me some of that Marshal.”

Dewey slapped him on the arm, leering. “You and me both, I’d have her tied down, begging for it. That’s gotta be a tasty piece of ass.”

Devil turned in the seat to look at Dewey. “So what, he wants both her _and_ Meg now? Cain’t he share?”

Dewey shrugged, “I think he wants to keep Meg, but maybe he’ll let us have the Marshal when he’s done with her.”

\--------------------

It was lunchtime again, with Raylean and Bobby sitting in what appeared to be his regular booth at the diner. Bobby took a sip of tea and stretched his arms along the back of the booth, the remnants of his salad pushed off to the side. He watched enviously as Raylean swiped the last of her fries through a smear of ketchup.

“So, did he actually threaten you? Say if it would be him or a hired thug?”

She made a kind of “ehh” noise around the fries and finished off her cola. “There were a lot of ‘if’s used. But, if I know him, Boyd’ll want to do it himself.”

Bobby shook his head. “Well, from what you’ve told me, he could do anything from a pipe bomb to a hex bag on you. Ya sure he’s gonna give you until tomorrow?” he looked skeptical. “He might just hit you while you’re not lookin’. I’d be checking my car and room every time I got near it, I were you.” Raylean shrugged, rolled her eyes and sighed, slumping down into the seat. She didn’t want anyone to worry about her more than they had to, and tried to act like it wasn’t as big a deal as it seemed.

He continued, toying with his fork. “You see, you’re kinda like bait,” he stood the fork on its end, tines up. “Like a goat tethered to a pole.” gestured in a circle around the fork, “All I gotta do is keep you in sight to catch whatever comes sniffing after you. After all, the way Boyd acted around you at the courthouse, he definitely liked what he’d scented. ”

She replied, exasperated, “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you.” Bobby chuckled softly.


	10. The Demon Before Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Raylean and Boyd sit down and... have dinner?  
> (practically at gunpoint)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Longer release than usual, I didn't want to chop it up into baby parts.

Dusk settled in with Raylean, Tim, Rachel and Bobby all piled in her hotel room, with the massive Sammy trying to be a lapdog to each in turn; licking fingers greasy with pizza, before finally giving up to settle down on the bed, panting happily with his tongue lolling out. They’d settled into playing Texas Hold’em, and Tim had just folded his hand and gone to peek out the window. Raylean watched Rachel’s eyes light up when the river card was the Jack of Clubs. 

“Hey, Rache? We gotta work on your poker face, ‘cause I know that was just what you needed to get a good hand.” 

Rachel just huffed, and said, “But I’m still winning, ain’t I? I do, and you weep.” Raylean folded and stretched over the back of the chair. Leaning back, she watched as Tim placed a night-vision scope to his eye as he peeked around the curtains. 

Bobby folded as well, “One single, solitary tear.” He noticed where Raylean’s attention was, and called to Tim, “Hey, Novak, you got anything interesting out there?”

Tim shrugged and kept his attention out the window. “Nothing like watching someone watch you back. Got a coupla jokers in an old beater with binocs, checking us out. Plainclothes haven’t reported anything from the parking lot yet.” He turned from the window briefly, a sly smile on his face. “You think I should make like I’m jerking off, give ‘em a show?” Both women made disgusted noises and Bobby threatened to beat him with a beer bottle. Tim just grinned as he brought the scope back to his eye.

Before Bobby could get another hand dealt, the room phone rang. Raylean answered, and it was Meg on the other end. 

“Hey there, chicken’s frying.” 

Raylean sighed, “Yeah, I can hear it. Tom with you, too?”

The way Meg paused before answering made her instincts flare to attention. “I, uh, well, he had to go out, get something for the pie I was making? And maybe he might’ve had the idea to go out there to convince you to come over tonight, since you cancelled.” Her voice sounded nervous, like maybe someone was watching her talk. 

“If he calls, let him know I’m already on my way.”

“Yeah, um, everything should be ready by the time you get here.” The tone and the wavering of Meg’s voice were all the clues she needed. Yup, something was definitely off, and Raylean hung up, turning to Bobby who was now standing next to his chair. 

“Boyd’s got Meg.”

Bobby grabbed his jacket. “You sure?”

Raylean pursed her lips as she slid her gun into its holster. “She just didn’t sound right, and I’ve learned to follow my instincts.”

They all prepared to leave, and it was all Bobby could do to keep Raylean from flying out the door first. Everyone else piled into a dark SUV as Raylean hustled into the Town Car. She pulled out first, and as she saw the SUV move into the street, a pickup truck moved to block their path, with a figure in the back shooting at them, but not her. She slammed the brakes, threw the car into reverse, and headed back toward the fray.

Just then her cell rang, and she dug in her pocket to pull it out and flip it open. The sounds of gunfire erupted through the tinny speaker, echoing the noise from outside, and she could hear Bobby yell, “Go get to Meg, we got this!” She could see the doors of the SUV were open and hoped they were positioning behind for better coverage. Raylean threw the car back into Drive after Bobby screamed at her through the phone, “Go on, GO!” As the scene behind her disappeared around a corner, she noticed a car pull onto the road behind hers. She was so occupied trying to keep one eye on the road and another in her rearview mirror, she didn’t notice the classic GTO heading in the opposite direction.

\--------------------

She drove hard until she was a few miles from Meg’s, making sure the road was empty and dark before opening up the throttle and blazing down the road until a little past the next turn. There, she slid to a stop that blocked both lanes, left the engine running and slunk off into the woods. By the time the car tailing her came around the corner, she was hidden in the bushes right on the road’s edge and about two car lengths behind.

This turned out to be almost perfect, as the rusty Cadillac jerked to a stop right in front of her. two figures were gesticulating and arguing as she quietly snuck up to the driver’s door. She recognized Dewey Crowe’s voice asking if she’d snuck on up ahead. Leaning on the car frame, she waited for them to notice her. The other person in the car she recognized as the man who Boyd had called Devil, and he looked at her with a stupefied expression and said, “No she ain’t.” Dewey whipped his head around to stare at her dumbly as she placed one hand in the open window frame, the other on her gun. 

They continued to gape like fish out of water as she let herself into the backseat, noting the shotgun resting on the floorboard. Using her boot to pull the barrel into her grasp, she settled in the middle of the seat, leaning forward as the two men shied away from her, their profiles lit by the glow of the dashboard lights. Devil closed his eyes, mouth in a grim line as he began quietly banging his head against the passenger window.

“So what’s up, fellas?” she called cheerfully. Dewey quailed, twisting to look at her as he pressed against his door. Neither said a word, so she racked a load in the shotgun in her hands, “I’m sorry, what was that?”

Dewey quivered stupidly, but Devil managed to break his silence. “We was just ridin’ around is all…” and Raylean shoved the barrel of the shotgun into the side of his neck. “Alright, Boyd wanted to meet with you, that’s it!”

“Told  _ me _ he wanted me gone.”

Dewey chose that moment to regain his capacity for speech, “They why’re you askin’ us, ya fucking cunt-  _ gyaugh _ !”

Raylean cut him off with a shotgun barrel under his chin. “Bein’ outlaws is hard, ain’t it, boys?” she slid a pair of handcuffs to the end of the barrel and dangled them in front of Dewey’s face. “Cuff your hand, run it through the steering wheel, then Mr. Unfortunate Nickname over here.” She jangled the cuffs when neither of them moved. “Come on,” She used an encouraging tone reserved for small children and animals. Devil grabbed the cuffs instead and did as he was told, grumbling. Before she slid from the car, she checked them for weapons, pulled the keys from the ignition and tossed them into the bushes. The shotgun remained with her as she leaned in the driver’s side window. “Have a good night, gentlemen.”

\--------------------

When she pulled into Meg’s driveway, she noticed Boyd’s silver truck taking up the space right in front of the porch. 

Meg and the smell of fried chicken met her at the screen door and the poor woman’s eyes looked wild like a frightened horse. “I’m so sorry, I…” 

Raylean grabbed her hand and squeezed gently. “You don’t have to say a thing,” she said softly.

“I swear to god, I didn’t know…” Meg’s voice was high and wavering, on the verge of panic. She had on an old flower-patterned dress and a pilled yellow cardigan, hair piled up in a messy bun atop her head.

“Shh, I believe you.” Raylean gave her hand one more squeeze for reassurance, let go and propped the shotgun on her shoulder before walking into the dining room. she was greeted with a pistol pointed at her heart, Boyd sitting at the head of the table fully set for a meal. He was wearing another one of his dark button-downs, with the top button done up and his sleeves rolled up to the elbows, showing tattoos encircling his forearms. 

Boyd gave her a look like she should have known better and said, “Whoa now, no shotguns at the supper table.” When Raylean made no move, he gestured with his gun. “Go on.” His tone was similar to the one she had just used on his lackeys in the Cadillac. She slowly lowered the shotgun and placed it against the doorframe on the hallway side. She kept her breathing even, determined to at least look calm. Boyd looked at Meg and shooed her off to the kitchen. Her eyes flicked to the shotgun briefly before she disappeared down the hallway.

Boyd placed his gun on the table and gestured from Raylean to the table. “Well, come have a seat, Raylean.” She took a tentative step inside and rubbed her neck. Boyd then gestured with both hands, waving her over to the seat opposite. “Sit down, have some supper.” She relented, placing her hat on a side table and tugging off her jacket to hang on the back of the chair. Boyd kept one hand near his weapon so Raylean made sure her hands were flat on the table as she settled across from him with a sigh. Just stay cool, she told herself, and maybe everyone will get out of this alive.

The table was set with a platter full of fried chicken, a basket of steaming biscuits, serving bowls of mashed potatoes and mixed vegetables, a gravy boat. Glasses of ice water sweated onto the tablecloth at their place settings and at a third one off to the side. Raylean pressed her damp palms into the fabric, fingertips digging in. She watched Boyd load his own plate with a drumstick, potatoes and a biscuit, pouring gravy on the potatoes before settling in his seat.

“Well, go ahead, get some chicken or something.” Boyd waved his fork at her until she reached for the platter of fried chicken. He then shoveled in a forkful of potatoes and tore off a corner of biscuit, dipping it in the gravy before chewing on it, watching her like a hawk as she handled serving spoons and dishes. He swallowed and took a long drink of water. “Biscuits ain’t half bad, but not like Momma used to make, right?” he raised an eyebrow before continuing. “Oh, yeah. No momma for you.” Raylean’s eyes narrowed and she picked up the drumstick from her plate.

Boyd poked at his potatoes before gesturing with the fork again. “Lemme ask you something. In Miami, it weren’t just traffickers or cult members, was it?”

Raylean gave him a level look, “I know what you’re thinking, and there’s no such thing as vampires, Boyd.” She took a bite of chicken in spite of her stomach knotting with tension. She needed to remain calm and collected or this could go very bad very quickly.

He simply shrugged, “You said the word, not me.” He grinned wolfishly, “Your gun, you used the same one then?” He nodded at her, indicating the one on her hip. 

She nodded, placing the pad of her thumb to her mouth, sucking off oil and crumbs discreetly. 

He jabbed the times of his fork at her again, “Well, what kind is it?” 

She ran her fingers along a napkin, wiping off the rest of the crumbs from the chicken. “1911.”

Boyd whistled then, looking impressed. “Well, no shit. 45, huh? What make?”

Raylean raised her glass to her lips and answered before taking a drink, “MEUSOC”.

It seemed like an odd choice to him, and he nodded at his own gun. “Smith & Wesson for me.”

They continued like this for a while, back and forth, in between bites of food. Boyd would ask questions, Raylean would answer. He wanted to know where the incident took place, she said it was in a warehouse. When he asked if she was being shot at and with what, she replied they had automatic weapons. He didn’t seem to believe her when she claimed to not have any backup and had been alone. Boyd laughed when she said the explosion was caused by one of her stray bullets hitting a gas tank. 

Raylean was beginning to wonder where Tom was, he should have either called or come back by now. Come to think of it, she should have heard something from the Marshals by now, but she was probably in a dead area with no reception. Still, they knew she was here. Boyd seemed to be able to tell her attention was wavering and he wiped his mouth with a napkin. 

“How much time you think you got left, Raylean?”

She looked a little surprised, wondered if he had read her mind until she remembered his threat in the courthouse. “I thought you gave me till Noon tomorrow.”

He looked predatory. “What if I changed my mind, to right now?” Shit. This might get ugly in a hurry. 

“If you want, we can call the whole thing off.” She hoped for a congenial laugh, but it just came out jittery.

“If you ain’t gonna let up offa my ass, maybe we should just git ‘er done?”

She pursed her lips and sucked her teeth, stretching her legs under the table. “Yours on the table, I gotta pull? That how we’re doing this?”

Boyd inclined his head, “What’s the matter, you afraid of a disadvantage?”

She tilted her head, “Oh, I’m fast enough. Just want to make sure I understand the rules.”

He smirked, “Well, ain’t you just a Foreigner song?” He wailed, “You’re as cold as ice!” She wasn’t amused.

With a slap on the table he grinned widely. “This calls for a drink.” he leaned to one side, calling out. “Meg! Get us some glasses and a bottle of...”

Meg appeared at the door frame, the shotgun in her hands, pointed straight at Boyd. “You wanna know what your brother said when he saw me standing here just like this with his deer rifle?”

Boyd had the balls sit there and look  annoyed  at her as he said, “God _damn_ , woman! You only shoot people when they’re eatin’ supper?”

Meg sneered and edged a little closer to the table. “Nope, that wasn’t it. He sat right in  _ that very spot _ , his mouth full when he said, ‘whatchu doin’ widdat?’”

Raylean had frozen in place, eyes flicking between the two, seeing the had-it-up-to-here crazed look in Meg’s eyes as she pointed that shotgun right at Boyd’s face. 

Boyd looked at Meg, held out a placating hand and said softly, “Meg, honey, please put that down.”

But she kept talking, “And then  _ I _ said, I’m gonna shoot you, dummy.” 

The whole room became whisper quiet, with Boyd and Meg staring each other down. Raylean held herself still, tensed and ready to strike if necessary. Boyd slowly lowered his hand to his gun, and has his fingers began to curl around it, Meg brought the shotgun up to her shoulder and Raylean drew her weapon, firing it before Boyd could aim. Meg jerked at the sound of the gunshot, shooting at the ceiling. Raylean’s shot hit Boyd right in the chest, and he fell over backwards in his chair. Raylean paused for just a second, but then rushed around the table to see Boyd on his back, gasping for air with surprise in his eyes. She heard the shotgun’s stock hit the floor as she yanked open Boyd’s shirt to assess the wound. 

Blood was seeping everywhere, and the hole was almost right where she’d trained for it to go, over the heart. She hated that it had come to this, and watched as he gurgled and struggled to breathe. He looked her in the eye, and rasped out, “Ughhh, you really did it.”

Raylean pressed her palm to his gaping wound and closed her eyes. “I told you I’d take you down if you made me,” she whispered. This is why she preferred the monster cases. To watch a human life bleed out, and to know she had been the cause of it was too much, because she knew what else was out there, preying on them all. 

\--------------------

Boyd remembered the shock and pain, how he had struggled to breathe before he felt his consciousness slip. He waited to die, to see the light at the end of a tunnel, angels descending from heaven, maybe even the fires of Hell licking at his feet. He wasn’t expecting for there to be... _ nothing _ . Absolute darkness, he seemed suspended, weightless. At least he couldn’t feel a thing. Was this it, he thought, just emptiness? 

“No”, whispered an unfamiliar voice from the darkness, or was it in his head? In a deep, growling voice like smoke and whiskey transformed into sound with some kind of British accent, the whispering continued. It said his time didn’t have to be over yet, promised great things. It suggested a collaboration of sorts, said he was special, that it needed him. 

He noticed a red cloud, or was it smoke? swirling around and encompassing him. “I’d hate to lose you before we could officially meet,” the voice continued, “You are unique, my man. All that talent, so much more useful than a mere meat-suit.” 

Boyd tried to respond, but he couldn’t make a sound. In his head, he thought,  _ Who… what are you? _

The smoke answered, “Think of me as your second chance, Boyd Crowler. I can give you the opportunity to live, to be more than you’ve ever been.” Some of the smoke coalesced into two orbs, like red eyes, in front of him. Boyd would have sworn he could hear a smile as the voice said, “Let’s make a deal…”

\--------------------

Paramedics brought out Boyd on a stretcher, oxygen masked and bound as they rushed him to the nearest hospital. They weren’t sure how he managed to cling to a thread of life, but he was doing it, in spite of his heart stopping twice so far. Red and blue lights fought for dominance as police cars escorted the ambulance into the night. Raylean was resting against the hood of the Town Car as Bobby ambled up next to her, sliding an old trucker’s cap onto his head. 

“Didn’t we teach you to aim for the heart down at Glynco?”

Raylean nodded once, and they stood silently for a moment before Bobby walked away, leaving her to sit in silence as the sounds of vehicles faded into the distance, and the noises of the night came back to her ears, as she stood there in thought, alone.


	11. Consequences of Our Actions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The culmination of our story leads us here.

It wasn’t until the next morning that Raylean found out about what happened during the hotel shootout. Bobby was all proud of his deputies; they didn’t even get hurt, except for a small cut on Tim’s head from shattering glass. Tim had used a rifle to wing the shooter and the driver of the truck. Bobby announced proudly that he was glad to have an ex-Army Ranger on his team. Tim blushed, saying he just did as Bobby instructed. Bobby hadn’t wanted to kill them, so he just put them out of commission. And then Tim turned to Raylean, saying the best part was when Rachel went up to the truck with her weapon drawn and said, “Either one of you, do something stupid, please.” Rachel tried to hide her embarrassed pride by looking arounds the room and patting down her hair. Everyone was all smiles for a moment, until Bobby’s face dropped.

“It was too bad about that one civilian though.” Their good moods dissipated quickly. Raylean’s interest piqued, remembering the area had been fairly deserted.

“Did someone get caught in the crossfire?”

Tim nodded, “Yeah, there was this one guy on an old GTO, he pulled up soon after you left; one of the automatic weapons caught him. Didn’t even make it until the ambulance could get there.”

Raylean’s heart dropped into her stomach and she gripped the edge of her desk. “Black ‘66 GTO?”

Tim’s eyes went wide, and his mouth dropped open. “Yeah, how’d you-”

Raylean interrupted him. “Did you get the guy’s name?”

Rachel spoke up, “I think his last name was Masters…”

Raylean cursed, and pressed her hand to her mouth, the blood draining from her face. Bobby was the first to figure it out, and scrubbed the top of his head before sighing loudly. Neither Tim nor Rachel seemed to make the connection, until Bobby said, “It was Meg’s brother, wasn’t it, Raylean.”

And it was all her fault. She had talked to Tom, and encouraged his thinking that they could have had dinner that night. He had come over to get her, to see her , and got shot for it. Now, Meg had no family to fall back on after all this. She let out a slow breath before settling in her desk chair. Did Meg know yet? Surely the hospital had called by now. She placed both elbows on her desk and scrubbed her face. The others around her had fallen into an uncomfortable silence. With a kick to the underside of her desk, she turned to Bobby. “Is Boyd Crowler still alive?” she said in a low voice.

Bobby held out a placating hand toward her. “Last I heard he was in stable condition, but-”

Raylean jerked her chair out from under her desk, stood up and repositioned her stetson. With one look of her set jaw and furious eyes, Tim and Rachel stepped out of her way, but Bobby held firm in front of her, his arms crossed. He had to look up at her, but it didn’t diminish the command of his voice when he said, “Now, Raylean, you know he ain’t going nowhere, he’s in the criminal ward, and by all accounts unconscious. It won’t do you any good to go off half-cocked and-”

“Meg is my friend, and so was Tom. I need to make sure she’s alright, if that’s okay with you,  sir .” Her hands were clenched at her sides and  Bobby could see her jaw muscles work. It was probably best if she wasn’t in the office right now, anyway. Bobby let her go, but made her promise to check in. With swift, tense movements, she avoided the elevator and worked her way down the stairs to the parking garage and didn’t stop until she had closed the door of the Town Car behind her. Hands clenched on the steering wheel, she let out a slow breath before tossing her hat into the passenger seat and clawing at her scalp.

Raylean thought about how the universe had a sick sense of humor, letting people like Tom die,  from something as stupid as a stray bullet. She thought about how she had felt sorry for causing Boyd’s death, only to have him live instead. If it was possible, she would have gladly traded the two men’s lives. After another moment of just sitting there, she tried calling Meg, but got no answer. After a moment, a visit to the hospital seemed like not so bad an idea, after all. After carefully dusting off her stetson and straightening it back on her head, she started the car and drove to the hospital.

\--------------------

She found Meg slumped in a plastic chair near the entrance to the Morgue. After waving her back down when she attempted to stand, she sat next to her and enveloped the woman in her arms. Her face was pale, making the puffy, red eyes and dark circles underneath stand out in contrast. When Raylean held Meg’s head to her shoulder, the woman just sat there limply, too worn out to even cry anymore.

“Am I being punished by God?” whispered Meg, into the fabric of Raylean’s jacket.

“No, sweetheart,” she replied, petting the woman’s head, “Sometimes everything just happens at once.” After a moment, Raylean eased away from Meg to look her in the face. “Did you get a ride here?”

Meg nodded, “Betty down the street said she was headed in anyway, but probably wanted to get the story for town gossip.”

Raylean couldn’t help but sigh, because she knew how small towns fed off tragedies for gossip fuel. “You need a ride home later?”

Meg stared down at the handful of crumpled tissues in her hand. “I don’t think so, Betty said she’d take me home later, and I have to see about Tom’s car.” Her face crumpled at the use of her brother’s name, “But I… I don’t think I can… see it right now.” She took a shaky breath and closed her eyes.

Rubbing the woman’s arm, Raylean said, “Whatever you need, I’m here to help you, okay? All you gotta do is ask.” When she saw Meg nod, she gave her hand a final squeeze and stood up. “Well, I have my own things to deal with, so…”

Meg nodded and gave a watery smile before waving her off. “Betty will be back soon, so you go on and do your thing.”

Raylean was allowed into the secured ward, but Boyd was in Intensive Care, and she could only get as far as his door. She could see the wires and tubes coming out of the man, and felt a strange duplicity to her emotions. On one hand she was glad she hadn’t killed the man, but on the other… How could fate be so cruel to let this man live after receiving a bullet to the heart while Tom died due to a stray bullet? She rested her head on the glass window and sighed. After a couple of minutes, she talked to a doctor and found out the only reason Boyd survived was that somehow the bullet just grazed the heart muscle and had only punctured  the edge of a lung. The doctor said it was still amazing he survived, just due to shock and blood-loss alone. After a few more words with the doctor, and leaving a note to let her know when Boyd gained consciousness, she left the hospital.

Before heading back to the office, she swung by the impound lot and looked at Tom’s car. There actually didn't seem to be any damage to the vehicle, except for a broken window and blood on the seat. She hadn’t been able to make herself read the full report, so she didn’t know exactly where he had been hit, but there was an awful lot of blood on the seat. Swallowing down the bile working its way up her throat, she turned away and went back to work.

\--------------------

Raylean got the call that Boyd was awake on Wednesday morning, before work. So instead of going to the office, she detoured to the hospital. This time, there was an officer guarding his door and he was cuffed to the bed frame. Boyd was reclining against his pillows with the bed adjusted into a sitting position. The dressing on his chest wound must have been changed recently, because his gown was still open, showing the bandages. The covers were pulled up to his waist, and the man was looking out the window, eyes half-lidded.

Coughing when she entered the room, Raylean waited until Boyd turned his attention to her before speaking.

“That looks like it hurts.”

“Why yes, Raylean, thank you for noticing. Somebody shot me the other day. In the chest. Of course it hurts.” He spoke with a sarcastic smile, voice rough, most likely due to the tube that had been down his throat yesterday. His eyes looked dark, and she wondered how doped up he was, considering the articulate sarcasm.

“You’ve got something for the pain, though”

A hand lifted off the bed enough for Raylean to see the button Boyd held in it. “I can use it if needed, but I had a feeling you’d stop by, so been waiting.” He tried to shift, sit up a bit more, but a twitch of pain halted the movement. “Didn’t want to be all mush-mouthed, keep a clear head for when I saw you.”

Raylean took off her Stetson and held it in her hand, leaning on the back of a nearby chair. “Well, I’m here.”

Wincing with the attempt to take a deep breath, Boyd said, “What do you think I want to say?”

She simply shrugged and shook her head slightly.

“Hmmm.” Boyd tilted his head, “If Meg hadn’t shown up with that shotgun... you think I could've shot you first... if I hadn’t been distracted?” Boyd had to pause in between to swallow and take shallow breaths.

Raylean licked her lips and looked down at her hat. “I dunno.”

He waved a hand as if to dismiss the matter. “I suppose the real question is, did you miss on purpose? Why ain’t I dead?”

She simply shrugged, looked him in the eye a moment before squaring her jaw and staring out the window. “I aimed to kill, just like they taught me. Although the doctors say I came awfully close.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, took some shallow breaths before continuing, “I was wondering, when I woke up... if maybe you hadn’t planned on killing me, but I have this belief… I woke up in so much pain… but I didn’t push the button because…” he had been pausing for breaths, but then opened his eyes, Raylean had to wonder again if there wasn’t something in his system making his eyes so dark, “I knew the pain wasn’t just from the physical hole in my chest. It was also deeper, a hole in my soul. It made me realize, I couldn’t blame you for what happened, any more than a man can blame his neighbor for a tornado.” He had to close his eyes again and breathe, having been able to make it through that last bit without pausing.

Raylean straightened up, “So if a tornado is an act of God,” Boyd nodded, “You’re saying getting shot in the chest, by me, was an act of god?” She couldn’t keep the incredulous tone from her voice.

Boyd opened his eyes again and smiled. “Well, more like He was acting through you, to get my attention. I know not yet what my new course, through His will may be… But I have faith, faith that my path will be shown to me, as it is required. Because even through this pain, I am at peace. I have been born again in His eyes, Raylean.” He reached out his hand, palm up towards her, “And I want to thank you for your role in that.”

Raylean tried not to frown, looking at his outstretched hand and back up at his face. Could it be possible he’d found God in a hospital bed after surviving practically getting shot in the heart? She stayed where she was, not believing God would have willingly traded Boyd’s life for Tom’s.

Closing his eyes with a crease between his eyebrows, Boyd withdrew his hand and eased his head back onto his pillow. With a sigh and two pushes of the button in his hand, he said, “If you don’t mind, now that my piece has been said, I must tend to the needs of the flesh. You understand.” His face began to relax and his voice drifted off at the end of the last word.

\--------------------

Tom’s funeral was held on Saturday and Raylean stayed in the back of the church during the service. Meg requested she be there for the interment and so she waited until Meg turned away from the grave, towards her. Raylean led her to a bench that faced away from where her brother’s coffin was being lowered into the ground. As she sat and comforted the woman who had been through so much, Raylean noticed that Meg had touched up her roots and was a full blonde again. Of course, with everything going on, there was no way Meg would have shown up in public, her own brother’s funeral, without looking her best. It was nice to see that even in her grief, she was returning to her normal self.

They looked over the rest of the cemetery in silence for a moment, before Raylean tried to apologize for being the reason for Tom’s death. Meg cut her off, “No, you don’t get to blame yourself for this. It was an accident, and that’s that.”

“But…”

“You stop that, I know what you’re thinking, and it was NOT your fault. Actually, I have a request for you.”

Raylean swallowed back another protest as she watched the other woman dig through her handbag. Meg produced a set of car keys, a silver rifle casing dangling from the keyring. As the keys were placed in Raylean’s hand, Meg looked up at her.

“That car was Daddy’s pride, and when it was passed to Tom, it was his baby. When I look at it, all I can see is my brother.” She closed her eyes and took a breath before continuing. “I wouldn’t think of selling it, but I can’t look at it anymore, either. So I’m giving it to you.” When Raylean gasped sharply and opened her mouth to speak, Meg stared at her with her red-rimmed eyes full of determination. “I always looked up to you, you know… and not just because you were taller. You stood up for what you believed in, and even with all the craziness at home, you never let that change you.”

Meg stood up and turned to face Raylean, cupping her cheek. “I’m gonna get the paperwork sorted, but the car is yours, so don’t even try to argue.” With a sad smile, Meg grasped the hand with the keys. “We are both proud of you, that you got out of this town and made something of yourself.” With that, she turned and walked back to the funeral home’s car, leaving Raylean stunned and watching her go, the keys to the GTO clasped tightly in her fist.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who actually read this!  
> And thanks again to my lovely beta reader, MollyC!  
> I already know when the next part will happen in the storyline, but I have a DCBB to work on as well as real life. And I think I need to finish the whole thing before posting, to avoid random/uneven chapter breaks


End file.
